My instructions are terse. She complies without sass. Her tongue is caught between her teeth in concentration. It’s fucking obscene, how badly I crave—
“Good girl.”
Her face goes red. I don’t have to ask why.
None of it changes why I can’t cross that line with her again. I didn’t fold her into this world, with all of its risks and costs alongside the benefits, to take advantage of her.
Which makes it my responsibility to get my shit together.
It’s up to me to take a considerable step back from her tempting body and hold an axe out to her, and teach her how to wield it. Planned or not—easy or not—this is her world now, too. She deserves to do more than survive in it. More than I want to be inside her, I’ve got to want this for her.
So, “Let’s see how you do with this,” I entice her.
Her eyes light up gloriously.
I stay careful not to touch her at all if I can help it.
***
Later that night, I don’t even try to pretend I didn’t take her out to dinner to celebrate my own self-control. I fought every impulse and didn’t even run from her. It’s an achievement. And not a small one, either.
As we step into the car on the way back, however, Janella seems the opposite of satisfied. She’s twitchy. Tense. She pushed her food around her plate all night and still looks deep in thought. It’s like she’s here but not here.
I try to give her space. If this is going to be our new normal, maybe some space isn’t the worst thing.
It’s easier said than done.
I last all the way to the elevator doors back to the penthouse before I snap.
“What happened to our agreement?”
“Our agreement?” Janella echoes, puzzled, emerging from her head.
I clarify, “To let each other in.”
“Oh.”
She looks so stricken, I bump my shoulder into hers just to jostle her back out of her head again. Sheepishly, she smiles up at me.
“I’ve been thinking,” she starts. The apples of her cheeks are already ruddy. Just looking at her, I can tell these words are costing her courage. It makes me unreasonably fond of her.
“That’s never a great start,” I tease.
Nose wrinkling, she nudges me back.
There you are.The thought comes unbidden.
“I’m not trying to keep you out of my head. I was figuring out myself. Not everything is about you, you know,” she harrumphs, leading the way into the kitchen. I don’t let myself think too deeply about how normal this all feels, coming home with her. Going through the motions of drinking water—how she hands me a bottle from the fridge before she plucks one out for herself—to flush out the sheer amount of champagne we’d consumed with dinner.
I slowly nod. “I get that.”
“I had fun today. I don’t want you to think I didn’t.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I sense abutcoming, Nell.”
The impromptu nickname prompts a faint smile from her. It has her bracing her shoulders, too.
“But.” She shrugs, as if sayingfair enough.“I want to try it outside. Where the bigger, worst distractions are.”
