If he's feeling something in Dublin, and I'm feeling something here...
Maybe the Krajncs aren't our only problem.
Maybe they never were.
Something's coming.
I can feel it.
And I'm not sure I'm ready for what it is.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dalla
Three days.
Three days of living in the same basement, sharing the same bathroom, existing in the same space—and RJ is still treating me like I'm made of glass and explosives.
He watches me constantly.
I feel his eyes on me when I'm sketching, when I'm making coffee, when I'm walking up the stairs to the main clubhouse.
He's always there, always present, always maintaining that careful professional distance that makes me want to scream.
Or kiss him.
Possibly both.
I'm bent over my worktable, lost in a sketch that's been fighting me all morning, when I catch him staring again.
He's on the basement couch, pretending to read something on his phone, but his eyes aren't on the screen.
They're on me.
"You know," I say without looking up, "if you're going to stare, you could at least be subtle about it."
"I'm not staring. I'm observing. It's my job."
"Observing." I set down my pencil and turn to face him. "Is that what we're calling it?"
Something flickers in those gray eyes.
Heat. Hunger.
Gone before I can be sure I saw it.
"You should get back to work," he says. "Greer's deadline is coming up soon.."
"I know when my deadline is. I don't need you to manage my schedule."
"I'm not managing. I'm?—"
"Observing.Right." I turn back to my sketch, but the lines blur in front of me.
I can't focus.
Not with him sitting there, radiating tension like a coiled spring.
