Damn her green eyes. Damn her wicked mouth. Damn the woman herself.
No, a list would not do. A list could not repair what she had unsettled. He needed something more substantial, and he had just reached for clean paper when the door to his study opened without so much as a knock.
Anastasia strode in as if she belonged there, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with contained fury, her hair slightly loosened as though she had been tugging at it in frustration. She shut the door behind her with a decisive click that sounded far too much like a challenge. Benedict did not rise immediately; he only looked at her, his expression unreadable, his fingers still resting on thepen as though it were the only thing anchoring him to reason.
“Miss Dawson,” he said evenly. “Do you have a reason for barging into my study?”
“Yes.” She came a few steps closer, stopping at the edge of the rug before his desk. “I want you to stop pretending you do not know what happened between us.”
Benedict’s jaw tightened as he set the pen down with slow control. “I am not pretending.”
“Then acknowledge it.” Her voice dropped. “Because you have spent the whole weekend acting as though I am nothing more than an irritation.”
Benedict rose, measured and calm, as if he were answering a steward rather than a woman who still carried the marks of his mouth on her skin. He stepped around the desk, not hurried but deliberate, and the space between them felt suddenly too small.
“I am aware of what occurred between us,” he said, his tone even enough to cut. “If that is what you require.”
“And?” she demanded, anger flaring quickly to cover the tremor in her voice. “Do you intend to—what? Ignore it? Walk past me as if I am beneath notice?”
Benedict’s gaze held hers without blinking. “I intend to put it behind us.”
Her eyes widened. “Behind us.”
“Yes.” His voice lowered a fraction, not softening, only turning more dangerous for its restraint. “This was another mistake, one that we should not repeat, and I take full responsibility for it.”
The word struck her like a slap. Anastasia’s face went hot, her pride instantly wounded. “A mistake,” she repeated, incredulous. “So that is what you call it when you come into my room and—”
Something flickered in his eyes—brief and sharp, almost like anger, almost like guilt—yet his expression stayed controlled.
“That is precisely why it cannot happen again,” he said.
Anastasia stared at him, her heart hammering. “So you will simply—what? Forbid yourself from wanting me?”
His jaw tightened. “I do not want you.”
It was a lie, and they both knew it.
Anastasia’s lips curved, but the smile was thin and bitter. “You are very disciplined, then,” she murmured. “To lie so smoothly.”
Benedict’s gaze dropped to her mouth for a fraction of a second before returning to her eyes. “I think I have heard enough of this discussion.”
“No,” she snapped, stepping closer. “No, you do not get to say that and look at me like that. You do not get to use me however it pleases you and then call it a mistake as if I am some… some diversion you regret in the morning.”
Benedict’s voice sharpened. “You are not a diversion.”
“Then what am I?” she challenged. “A problem? A scandal you are forced to manage?”
The silence that followed was answer enough; Anastasia’s throat burned. She did not know whether she wanted to laugh or scream.
“You are insufferable,” she said, her voice shaking despite her effort to steady it.
Benedict inclined his head as though she had complimented him.
“Good day, Miss Dawson.”
The dismissal was so polite it became an insult. Anastasia held his gaze for one heartbeat longer, her eyes blazing with fury and humiliation, then turned on her heel and left. The door slammed hard enough to rattle the shelves.
Benedict did not move for several seconds after she was gone. His chest rose and fell once. He had said the correct thing. He had done what he must. It should have steadied him—but it did not, because the moment she left, he could still taste her, still feel the memory of her body reacting beneath his mouth, still hear those breathless sounds she had made when she surrendered.
