He reaches up, fingers brushing a strand of hair off my cheek.
“Then why are you shaking?”
Because you undo me.
Because you’re older and steady and dangerous in ways I don’t understand.
Because when you look at me like that I forget I’m supposed to be professional.
“I’m not,” I whisper.
He smiles slightly. Not amused. Not mocking. Something else.
“You’re brave with Lacee,” he says. “Confident. I bet you command a room full of ten-year-olds without blinking.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“She’s a kid.”
“And I’m not?” The edge in his tone makes my pulse jump.
He moves closer. Close enough that my breath hits his chest.
“I don’t want to scare you,” he says.
“You don’t.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s not true.”
He knows. He sees the way my hands tremble. Not from fear. From want.
He lifts his hand slowly, giving me time to stop him. I don’t. His fingers slide along my jaw, down my neck, stopping just at my collarbone.
“You’re too young for me,” he says quietly.
The words sting.
I push his chest lightly. “You’re the one who keeps stepping closer.”
“That’s the problem.”
“And?”
“You’re twenty-four.”
“So what?”
“So I’ve lived things you haven’t.”
“Don’t assume that.”
His eyes darken. “I’m not assuming,” he says. “I’m protecting you.”
“I don’t need protection.”
He steps back abruptly, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yes,” he mutters. “You do.”
