“In public. This is private.”
“That’s against the rules.”
She steps closer. “We’re establishing credibility. My car in your driveway accomplishes that.”
“You sure you just don’t want to spend time with me?” I smirk.
Her hand comes to rest lightly on my chest. Over my heart. The contact is simple. Devastating.
“You’re so…tightly wound,” she says softly.
“You’re in my house.”
“You invited me in.”
“I did not.”
“You didn’t say no.”
I grip her wrist gently but firmly. “Careful.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re underestimating what this does to me.”
Her eyes flicker. “Does what?”
“You standing here like you belong.”
She goes still.
For a second, neither of us breathes.
She swallows. “It’s fake.”
I step closer. “Stop saying that.”
Her back brushes the edge of the couch.
“And if it stops being fake?” she whispers.
My control fractures. I plant my hands on either side of her, bracing against the couch.
She tilts her face up. Challenging. “Levi.”
“Sadie.”
“You’re crowding me.”
“You’re still here.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt again. That small tell. That familiar claim.
“You can’t scare me off,” she says softly.
“I’m not trying to scare you.”
“What are you trying to do?”
