Making me safe.
My breath hitched. Heat pooled low in my belly, mixing with the nerves until I couldn't tell which was which.
I noticed the champagne bottle dripped with condensation. Should I pour myself a glass? Would that seem presumptuous? Or would sitting here drunk be worse?
I left it alone.
This is insane. I should leave.
My pulse spiked as footsteps came closer to the door. Blood rushed in my ears while I smoothed my dress with trembling hands. I sat up straighter on the bench, then second-guessed the position and folded my hands in my lap instead.
The footsteps stopped.
Right outside the door.
Time seemed to slow.
I could hear my heartbeat.
The lacy dress against my skin suddenly felt too tight, too warm. My nipples hardened, pressing against my bra. Between my thighs, I was already wet.
He's going to know.
The doorknob turned.
Easton
I'd left Palisade's house before dawn three days ago because staying felt like torture.
The guest room had been comfortable enough. Firm bed, clean sheets, the faint scent of lavender from wherever she kept her laundry detergent. But I'd barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face in that hallway. The way she'd looked up at me, tears on her cheeks, wanting me to kiss her.
The way she'd leaned in, just slightly, before pushing me away.
We can't.
Third time she'd said it. Third time, I'd let her pull back.
I'd driven home at six AM and gone straight to the gym, spending two hours trying to work out the frustration that had been building for weeks. Months, if I was honest. Maybe years.
Palisade wasn't wrong. It was complicated. She had Casey to think about. I had community service obligations, anger management requirements, and a career that could implode at any moment if I fucked up again.
But God, I wanted her.
And she wanted me too. I'd felt it in the way she'd pressed her forehead against my chest, the way her breathing had changed when I'd touched her, the way she'd tilted her face up like she was offering herself to me.
We can't.
So, I'd given her space. Showed up late to the clinic that first day, sending a brief text with a bullshit excuse. Kept my distance when I came in. Made sure we were never alone together.
It was killing me.
On Tuesday, I'd brushed past her in the narrow hallway between the kennels and treatment room. Completely unavoidable in the tight space. Our shoulders had touched for maybe two seconds, and I'd felt that familiar electric charge arc between us. Saw her pupils dilate. Heard her breath catch.
We'd stood there frozen, both of us wanting, neither of us moving.
Then I'd cleared my throat and walked away like a coward.
That night, I'd gotten drunk alone in my condo and seriously considered quitting my community service early, consequences be damned. Maybe if I weren't at the clinic every day, wasn't part of Casey's routine, and constantly in Palisade's orbit, I could get my head straight.
