"Then what do you want?" I whisper.
His eyes—those dark, fathomless eyes—drop to my lips for an instant before returning to mine. "I want you to choose to stay."
"Why?"
"Because from the moment I saw you standing in the rain, I knew you were meant to be here. With me."
The intensity of his words, the absolute conviction in his tone, should send me running for the hills. Instead, it roots me to the spot, a strange warmth unfurling in my belly.
"You don't even know me," I say weakly.
"I know enough." One of his hands drops from the door to my face, his fingers feather-light as they trace my cheekbone. "I know you're running from something that terrifies you. I know you're stronger than you realize, to have made it this far. I know that when I touch you, your pupils dilate and your breath catches and your body leans into mine, even as your mind tells you to be afraid."
As if to prove his point, his thumb brushes over my lower lip, and I can't stop the small gasp that escapes me, or the way my body sways slightly toward him.
"Stay," he says, and it's both a command and a plea. "Let me protect you. Let me give you the safety you deserve while you figure out your next move."
"And what do you get out of it?" I ask, because nothing in life is free. Raymond taught me that lesson well.
Sutton's hand slides from my face to my neck, his palm resting lightly against my throat, his thumb tracing the rapid pulse at the base of my jaw. "The pleasure of your company," he says, his voice dropping to a register that makes heat pool low in my stomach. "Nothing more than you're willing to give."
There it is again—that careful phrasing that promises restraint while hinting at desire. He wants me; that much is clear. But unlike Raymond, he's not forcing the issue. At least not physically.
"And if I say no? If I insist on leaving?"
His expression hardens for an instant, something dangerous flashing in his eyes before he masks it. "Then I'll have a car take you wherever you want to go, with enough money to keep you comfortable for a month. But I don't think that's what you want."
He's right, and that knowledge is as terrifying as anything else about this situation. I don't want to leave. Despite the red flags, despite the warnings blaring in my head, I feel drawn to this man in a way I can't explain.
"Why would you do that for a stranger?" I press, needing to understand his motivation.
His hand moves from my throat to cup the back of my neck, firm yet gentle. "Because you're not a stranger, Cecily. Not anymore."
With that, he closes the remaining distance between us, his chest pressing against mine, his powerful body pinning me tothe door. I should feel trapped. I should feel afraid. And I do, but it's not the same fear I felt with Raymond. This is different—a heady mixture of anticipation and desire and yes, fear, but fear of what I might become in this man's hands rather than fear of harm.
"Tell me to move away," he murmurs, his lips a breath from mine. "Tell me you want to leave, and I will step back. I will let you go."
I open my mouth, but the words don't come. Because the truth is, I don't want him to move away. I don't want to leave. The safety I feel in his presence is addictive after years of walking on eggshells around Raymond.
"I don't understand this," I whisper instead, my hands coming up to rest hesitantly against his chest, feeling the solid strength of him beneath my palms. "I don't understand why I'm not running from you."
His lips curve in a smile that's equal parts triumph and tenderness. "Because you recognize what I recognized last night. That we are meant for each other, in ways neither of us fully comprehends yet."
His hand slides from my neck to tangle in my hair, tipping my head back further. "Stay," he says again, and this time it's definitely a command. "Stay with me, Cecily."
And God help me, I nod. Because the way he cages me in, the control he exerts over my body and my environment—it's nothing like when Raymond did it. This feels like protection rather than possession. Like safety rather than imprisonment.
Or maybe that's just what I need to tell myself to justify the inexplicable pull I feel toward this dangerous, compelling man.
"I'll stay," I whisper, and the words feel like surrender and victory all at once. "For now."
The smile that spreads across his face is dark and satisfied, a predator who has successfully cornered his prey. But there'ssomething else there too—a flash of genuine pleasure that makes my heart turn over in my chest.
"Good girl," he murmurs, and the praise sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with fear.
He steps back suddenly, releasing me from the cage of his body, and I feel both relief and disappointment at the loss of contact.
"Breakfast," he says, as if the intense moment we just shared never happened. "You must be hungry."
