I cross my arms. “From you?”
He doesn’t answer. The silence stretches. He turns toward the sink, grips the edge of it like he’s bracing for something.
“You make me forget,” he says finally.
“Forget what?”
“How to be careful.”
I step closer now. “You make me feel steady,” I say quietly. “Like I’m not floating.”
He turns slowly. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll believe you.”
“Good.” The word slips out before I can stop it.
He studies me like I’m something fragile and dangerous all at once.
“You don’t understand what you’re asking for,” he says.
“I’m not asking for anything.”
“You are.”
He closes the distance again. This time slower. His hand settles on my waist. My breath stutters.
“You’re asking me to want you without restraint,” he says. “You’re asking me to forget I’m your employer. That I have a daughter asleep down the hall.”
“I would never cross a line with Lacee.”
“I know.” His voice softens. “That’s what makes this harder.”
I reach up, fingers curling into his shirt.
“You think I don’t feel it?” I whisper. “Every time you walk into a room? Every time you say my name like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like it belongs to you.”
His eyes flash. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s true.”
His hand tightens at my waist.
“You want honesty?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“I think about you more than I should.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
“I imagine what it would feel like to stop pretending,” he continues, voice rougher now. “To kiss you without worrying about consequences.”
