“No,” I assure him, pressing my palm lightly against his cheek. And my heart melts a little when he leans into my touch. “No regrets.”
We take our time fixing our appearance, stealing kisses between adjustments. His hands linger longer than necessary. My fingers trace patterns on his chest without thinking. But this is merely familiarity, bodies learning each other. Nothing more. A line has been crossed that we can’t uncross, but crossing it doesn’t change geography or careers.
“Come to my room tonight,” he says when we’re finally presentable, his forehead against mine. “When everyone's asleep.”
“Thorne—”
“Tell me no, Ivy.” His gaze holds mine, and in it is such hunger that my stomach flips. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
I can’t. We both know I can’t.
Despite all my reservations, despite knowing this is temporary, despite the complications waiting for us outside this room, I find myself nodding. “Tonight,” I whisper.
His answering smile is worth every risk.
Chapter Eighteen
Thorne
Coffee steam warms my face as I climb the stairs to the third floor. My muscles ache in all the right places thanks to a week of morning swims followed by... other activities with Ivy. The memory of this morning is hotter than what’s in my mug. Her pinned against the cedar wall, water droplets trailed down her throat, that breathy sound she made when she whispered my name like a secret. Her scent all around me.
Even in the pool, even through the chlorine, I could smell it. Vanilla and something floral. Same shampoo as the train.
I've been around her for almost a month, and I can identify her shampoo underwater.
This is a problem.
I shake my head. Focus. I have acquisition reports to review before the eight o’clock call.
The third floor has always been my sanctuary. Glass dome overhead, panoramic views of the Kentucky hills turning gold in the early morning light, and most importantly, far enough from the main living areas that no one bothers coming up here.
My office door stands slightly ajar. I pause mid-step. Did I leave it open last night? No. I always close it.
A quick mental inventory: Sebastian’s in Louisville until tomorrow. Lillianna is at 3Bs. And Ivy—Ivy’s still in the shower. I left her there fifteen minutes ago, her skin flushed pink from heat and orgasms.
I nudge the door with my foot.
Madison sits cross-legged on my office floor, a white cat with brown ears sprawled across her lap. Her fingers scratch behind Marley’s ears with the careful attention of someone who isn’t used to things staying when she touches them. She hasn’t noticed me yet.
Or she has and she’s pretending she hasn’t.
“What are you doing in here?” I don’t soften the edge in my question.
She shrugs in that way only teenagers can, like nothing matters and everything the other person is doing is wrong. “The door wasn’t locked.”
“That’s not an invitation.”
“Why are you being a jerk?”
I grunt and take a sip of coffee. “Because I don’t like people wandering into my personal space uninvited.” I take a seat at my desk.
“I’ve read about you, you know.” She keeps her attention on Marley, scratching behind his ears like we’re having a casual conversation. “The player. The guy who treats relationships like business deals. Disposable. The rich jerk who bet half his trust fund on a single Derby race just because he could. The acquisition specialist who makes executives cry during negotiations. Drinks too much, uses people. That sounds like our dad.”
Silence stretches between us, sharp as a cat’s claws.
“Your point?”
She shrugs and looks at Marley, her fingers resuming their steady rhythm through his fur. “I was going to work out—”
