reasons I needed to resist. Ever since Sam told me what was happening in the new playroom, I’d
fantasized about what it would be like if my life was different and I could go in there. When he’d
shown me the concept sketches, I’d been like a kid in a toy store, trying to figure out what I wanted to
do first. And as he and Jack discussed the grand-opening, I’d felt bitterness and jealousy consume me,
along with an unhealthy dose of envy for those who didn’t have to hide their true selves.
“No,” William responded firmly. He took a step forward, the recessed lighting over the bar
revealing one side of his face. I noticed the jagged scar running the length of his cheek. I'd seen it
before, of course, but tonight, I wanted to trace my finger along the raised flesh.
What in the hell was wrong with me? No matter how lonely I might be, I didn't have time to
develop crushes that could never lead anywhere on men who thought I was one step above worthless.
“No one should be ashamed over what turns them on.” William rested his forearms along the edge
of the bar. He jerked his head toward the cupboard where they kept the private stash of whiskey.
Without being told what to do, I grabbed a glass, tossed in a few cubes of ice, and then poured two
fingers for him. He nodded his thanks when I slid the glass across the bar.
“What were you trying to talk yourself out of?” He lifted the glass and swirled the amber liquid
around. His dark brown eyes bored into me and I squirmed, worried he could see everything I tried to
keep hidden. I shook my head, refusing to answer. “You’re safe here and we’re alone. What harm
could come from telling me?”
“I… I can't.” And damn my eyes for darting to the left.
“Why are you scared, Corey?” William’s voice was softer now. Somehow, that was more
unsettling than when he was a gruff asshole. I didn’t know how to deal with how smoothly my name
passed his lips or how my body reacted to hearing it.
“Not scared,” I insisted, slamming the glass down more forcefully than I meant to. If I wasn't
careful, my entire next paycheck was going to be spent replacing glassware for Jack. He wasn't the
kind of boss who would take broken glasses out of our pay, but my conscience would eat at me if it
was my temper and jittery nerves costing him money. “Can you just drop it?”
“I'm not sure I can.” Well, at least he got a point for honesty. Damn him. As hard as I was working
to remind myself what a dick he’d been last week when I had to call out, he was working even harder
to break down my walls. “I don't want to pressure you into anything, but I am interested in finding out
why you keep stealing glances toward the playroom. There must be something in there that piques
