Connor's cheeks instantly flushed pink, the color spreading up from his neck in a way that shouldn't have been as endearing as it was.
I had a sudden memory of the last time I’d seen his face flush, of his body moving above mine, his lips against my neck. It hit me like a physical wave of heat.
"I was not distracted," he countered defensively, though the pink in his cheeks deepened. "I was... focused on other things."
"Indeed," I replied, my voice dropping an octave lower without my permission. "Very focused."
Our eyes locked across the desk, and the air between us suddenly felt charged with electricity. I could see his pupils dilate slightly as he held my gaze, neither of us willing to be the first to look away.
The memory of our night together hung between us like a living thing—his hands on my skin, my unexpected response, the sounds he'd made when he'd come apart in my arms.
You'd think we'd invented sex, the way we're looking at each other.
But that was just it—for me, it had been like inventing it all over again. My body had been dormant for so long that every touch, every sensation, had felt brand new and overwhelmingly intense.
I finally broke the tension by reaching into my desk drawer and producing a sleek black credit card. The movement required me to look down, severing the connection that had made it difficult to breathe.
"Unlimited funds," I said, sliding the card toward him. "Try not to buy a small country."
Connor stared at the card as if it might bite him. "That's... I can't accept that."
"You already accepted my last name," I pointed out. "The credit card is significantly less binding."
His fingers reached out hesitantly, and as he took the card, our fingers brushed. The contact, brief as it was, sent an unexpected jolt through my body, making my breath catch slightly before I could regain my composure.
This is ridiculous. I'm acting like a teenager who's never been touched before. But, I guess, in some ways, that's exactly what I was—at least, this new version of me, the one whose body could feel things it hadn't felt in three years.
"Quit your jobs," I continued, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Full-time school. I'm paying."
Connor's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Just like that? Why?"
"I'm a very wealthy man, Connor. Your tuition is less than what I spend on wine in a month."
"That's not what I asked," he said, leaning forward slightly. "Why do you want me to quit my jobs? Why pay for my school? What do you get out of this arrangement?"
The directness of his question caught me off guard, even though it was the same bluntness he'd shown in the living room. Most people in my world would have simply taken the money and asked questions later—if at all.
My mind flashed involuntarily to Connor's body moving above mine the night before, awakening parts of me I thought dead since my accident. The way his touch had somehow bypassed the nerve damage, creating sensations where doctors had told me I would never feel again. The physiological impossibility that had somehow become possible in his arms.
How could I explain that? How could I tell him that for three years, I'd been a half-man, resigned to a life without physical intimacy, only to have him waltz into my hotelroom and somehow unlock what medical science had declared permanently closed?
"That's... complicated," I managed, my usual eloquence failing me.
Connor set the credit card down on the desk and leaned back in his chair, studying me with unsettling intensity. "I think I deserve a straight answer, don't you? Given that I just married a man I met yesterday."
He had a point. But the truth was too raw, too new for me to articulate even to myself, let alone to him.
"Last night," I began, choosing my words carefully, "something happened that shouldn't have been physically possible."
Connor's eyes widened slightly, understanding immediately what I meant. "The doctors told you that you couldn't...?"
"Yes." The single syllable felt like it cost me something to say aloud.
"And with me, you could."
It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway, feeling uncomfortably exposed. In the boardroom, I was known for my unflappable composure. Yet here I sat, discussing the most intimate aspects of my disability with a virtual stranger who was now, improbably, my husband.
"So this is a science experiment?" Connor asked, his tone unreadable.
