"What?"
"The constant vigilance. The scanning for threats. The pretending you don't have emotions." I set my glass down. "It must be exhausting."
His eyes flash. "I'm doing my job."
"Your job. Right." I lean back in my seat, crossing my legs. "So the part where you caged me against a wall and promised to finish our conversation—that was just part of the job description?"
"That was a mistake."
The words hit harder than they should.
I set down my champagne glass and turn to face him fully.
"A mistake," I repeat.
"Yes."
"So when you touched my face—when you looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered—that was just adrenaline? Just the heat of the moment?"
He doesn't answer.
His jaw is tight enough to crack.
"Look at me, RJ."
He does.
And there it is again—that flicker beneath the ice.
That hunger he's trying so desperately to smother.
"That wasn't a mistake," I say quietly. "And we both know it."
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
The plane hums around us.
The darkness presses against the windows.
I can hear my own heartbeat, loud in the silence.
"It doesn't matter what it was," he says finally. His voice is rough. Strained. "You're my principal. I'm your protection. That's the beginning and end of it."
"Is it?"
"It has to be."
"Why?"
The question hangs between us.
He looks away, his jaw working.
"Because I'm not a good man, Dalla. I've told you that. The things I've done—the things I'm capable of—" He shakes his head. "You deserve better than a monster who only knows how to kill."
"Maybe I don't want better." The words slip out before I can stop them. "Maybe I want someone who understands what it means to live in the dark."
His eyes snap back to mine. Something raw and hungry flashes across his face before he shuts it down.
