“Can’t,” I echo. “Right.”
She blows out a breath, shoulders sagging. Clearly, she expected a fight. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… lead you on.”
Damn, there’s that phrase.
I stand up, giving her plenty of time to bolt if she wants to. She stays rooted to the spot as I take a couple of steps closer, careful not to crowd her.
“Hey.” I tip my head, try to catch her gaze. “You didn’t lead me on.”
She snorts softly. “I literally climbed into your lap.”
“And I literally asked you every step of the way,” I counter. “You wanted it. I wanted it. Two adults making a choice for one night does not equal ‘you tricked me, you temptress.’”
Her lips twitch. “Temptress?”
“What? It’s a classic.” I shrug. “Point is, you don’t owe me anything you don’t want to give. Not more kisses, not more… handsy couch time, and definitely not guilt you don’t deserve.”
She bites the inside of her cheek, eyes searching my face, looking for a trap. “You’re… taking this very well.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” I say lightly. “My ego is weeping softly in the corner, but he’ll recover.”
She laughs for real, a little startled sound that makes my chest feel too tight.
“Silas.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For not being… weird about it.”
I grin. “Oh, I’m absolutely weird. Just not in the ‘I’m owed your body’ way.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling now, tension easing around her mouth.
“Okay,” she says, straightening a little. “So we’re… friends. Just friends. Professional.”
“Friends,” I agree. “Super professional. Very HR approved.”
Her gaze flicks to my mouth for half a second, traitorous thing that it is. Then to my chest, where my Henley is only half buttoned because I am, tragically, myself.
My grin widens. “Unless you’re going to get distracted by my… overwhelming professionalism.”
Color rushes back into her cheeks. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
“Being charming,” she accuses. “It’s confusing.”
I press a hand to my heart. “Delaney Rivers, I’ll have you know this is my natural habitat. I was born like this. The nurses probably rolled their eyes in the delivery room.”
She snorts again, trying not to, and that sound is going to live rent-free in my brain for days.
“Okay.” She backs up a step. She needs the distance to think straight. “Friends. Professional. No more… couch stuff.”
“Got it,” I say. “Last night stays in last night. Unless you need reassurance that you were phenomenal, in which case, my door is always open for compliments.”
“Silas,” she groans, but she’s half laughing, half hiding her face in her hands.
I walk past her toward the kitchen, deliberately casual, and pull open the fridge. “You eaten yet?”
