Her vision blurred. Damn it. Tears weren’t allowed here—not in a library, not in front of a man she barely knew, not when every inch of her screamed to keep control.
But Blake didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away or shift uncomfortably. He just held on, as though her trembling didn’t scare him, as though he’d already seen the fractures she tried so hard to hide.
Elise swallowed hard, forcing a shaky laugh. “I’m not usually the type to cry on someone else’s shoulder.”
His mouth curved, not quite a smile, but it held the faintest easing of tension. “I don’t mind.”
Though the words were simple, they pressed into her like a promise. And for the first time in longer than she could remember, Elise let herself lean—not just into the table, not just into the moment, but into him.
One tear betrayed her, sliding free before she could blink it back. Elise cursed herself silently, but Blake moved before she could turn away. His hand left hers only long enough to brushthe tear from her cheek with the back of his fingers, the touch achingly gentle for a man who radiated strength and control.
Her breath caught. She expected him to pull away, to retreat behind that distance he wore like armor. But instead, his hand lingered, sliding to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The simple gesture unraveled something inside her.
When she tipped her head just enough to meet his eyes, the air between them seemed to be alive and charged. His gaze was steady, but beneath it, she caught something else. She didn’t know what it was, but maybe, just maybe, it was the same impossible pull that was tugging her toward him.
Her lips parted, words rising and dying on her tongue. She should tell him to stop. She should push her chair back, re-establishing the walls that had kept her focused on finding the truth. But instead, her hands tightened around his, clinging to the warmth, the steadiness, the anchor he offered when everything else in her world was chaos and lies.
Blake leaned a fraction closer, not enough to crowd her but enough that she could feel the heat of him, enough that her pulse stumbled in her throat. “You don’t have to carry this alone,” he murmured.
The words broke through her defenses like sunlight cutting through storm clouds. For the first time in weeks, she wanted to believe it. Wanted to let someone shoulder even a sliver of the weight. And that thought terrified her more than Zajac ever could. She’d never let anyone close enough to care to share any burden she may have. No one but Étienne, and he was dead.
Elise exhaled slowly, her forehead almost brushing his. “That’s what scares me,” she whispered.
His thumb traced one last line along her cheek before he drew back just enough to give her space, though his eyes never left hers. “Then let me be the one thing that doesn’t scare you.”
The library faded around them—the stacks, the silence, the cold hum of the overhead lights—until all she could feel was him, solid and certain, holding her together when she feared she might break apart.
The world had narrowed to the space between them. She could feel his breath ghost across her skin, the faintest tilt, and they could close the distance. Her pulse stuttered. She was caught between wanting and warning.
And then the door banged open.
A burst of low chatter echoed down the rows of shelves as a cluster of students spilled into the library, their backpacks thumping against tables, whispered voices rising and falling in careless banter. The sound shattered the charged silence around her, scattering the moment like a flock of startled birds.
Elise jerked back, her chair scraping softly against the floor. Relief swept through her, sharp and almost dizzying, though she hated to admit it. Things were moving too fast, spiraling beyond her control. She was supposed to be chasing Zajac, not letting her heart skip and stumble for a man who’d dropped into her life like a wild storm.
Blake sat back as well, his face unreadable, his hands retreating to the table. If he felt the same jolt she did, he didn’t show it. That calm mask slid effortlessly back into place, though she thought that maybe, just for an instant, she caught the flicker of something more in his eyes.
Elise rubbed her palms against her thighs, grounding herself, dragging in a steady breath. The relief of the interruption pulsed with an undercurrent of something she refused to name. She should be grateful. Shewasgrateful. But some traitorous part of her whispered that if the students hadn’t walked in, she wouldn’t have stopped him from kissing her.
And that truth unsettled her more than the crash of her computer ever could.
Elise pulled in a long breath, forcing her heartbeat to settle and her head to clear. The students’ chatter faded into the background, but it left her grateful for the distraction. It gave her space to put the brakes on what had almost happened and push the swirl of emotions back into the box where they belonged.
Turning to Blake, she squared her shoulders and said, “Fine. Send it in.” She nodded at the closed laptop. “But I want more than a promise they’ll recover the files. I want answers. If Guardian’s doing the digging, then they’ll dig where I tell them.”
His brow lifted, faintly amused. “Where you tell them?”
“Yes,” she shot back, sharper than she intended. “I’ll make a list. I have specific questions I want researched and answered. I don’t care what tools they use or how they obtain them, but I need concrete facts to connect the dots. I’ll protect Guardian as a confidential source. No one will ever know the origin of the information. But the article ismine. The story is mine.”
For a long moment, Blake didn’t speak. He just studied her, that unnerving steadiness of his, like he could see every layer of her resolve and every fracture she tried to hide. Then, slowly, he inclined his head.
“You’ll get your answers,” he said.
Elise let out her breath. She clung to her determination, wrapping it around herself like armor. Whatever this pull between them was, whatever comfort he offered with his eyes or his hands, it couldn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the story and the truth.
Still, when she looked at him again, her chest gave a traitorous ache of something far more personal than a quest for justice.
CHAPTER 9
