I’m close enough now to smell him. Coffee. A deep masculine cologne. Something darker beneath it. My pulse stutters. Part of me was thinking it could be the scent I was searching for. But, it’s not. It’s not even close.
“Step back,” he says quietly. Almost like he’s asking me to save him.
I don’t. Instead, I lift my hand, stopping just short of his arm.
“You don’t know what you’re inviting,” he says, leaning in just a fraction closer.
The warning should scare me.
It doesn’t.
“Then tell me,” I whisper.
For a split second, everything stops.
His hand comes up fast and wraps around my wrist. Not rough, just enough to stop me. The contact sends a shock straight through me, enough to make me wet on the spot.
His eyes are dark now, like he’s furious with himself for letting it get this far.
“This is where it ends,” he says low. “Right here.”
My throat tightens. “Why?”
I need to hear it.
He releases me and steps back, creating space I didn’t ask for. Distance that feels like punishment.
“This isn’t appropriate.”
The rejection shouldn’t hurt, yet for some reason, it really does. There’s a part of me that wants to keep fighting him on this. It feels right.
“Because you work for Declan?” I ask quietly.
“Because I’m leaving,” he replies. “And you don’t invite men like me to stay.”
Something cold slides into my chest. My ribs squeeze like a vice.
“What kind of men are you?” I almost choke out as I wrap my arms around myself.
His eyes flick to the door. To the outside. To escape. “The kind who don’t deserve your attention.”
I swallow. “That’s not really your call.”
“No,” he agrees. “But it is my responsibility.” He grabs his bag and swings it over his shoulder, already pulling himself away.
“I’ll send everything to your phone. If anything glitches, call the number on the card.” He pauses at the door, hand gripping the handle like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. “Lock up after I leave,” he adds. “And don’t open the door to anyone you’re not expecting.”
I nod, even though I hate the way it feels to be told.
For one brutal second, he looks back at me. Not like a stranger. Like a man denying himself oxygen.
“Don’t flirt with men like me,” he says quietly. “Next time, one of us won’t stop.”
Then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him.
I stay exactly where I am. Heart pounding. Skin buzzing. Knowing with terrifying clarity that I just brushed against something reckless.
Something that could ruin me.
