Not immediately. His hand stayed on her waist a beat too long, his gaze caught on her mouth. Then surprise crossed his face — raw, unguarded, gone before she could be sure she’d seen it.
Then he was three feet away, straightening his tie, and the moment was gone.
Ava’s legs weren’t working properly. She reached for the conference table, steadying herself against the polished wood. Her heart was pounding. Her lips were tingling. The spot above her heart burned like she’d pressed a hot coal to her skin.
Fake, she reminded herself.That was fake.
But her body hadn’t gotten the memo.
“Are you alright?” Victor’s voice was carefully neutral.
“I—” She touched her lips. Still tingling. “That was necessary?”
“A chaste peck wouldn’t have convinced her.” He finished with his tie. His hands, she noticed, weren’t quite steady either. “The mark should be visible now. May I?”
She nodded.
His fingers were clinical as they unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse, pushing the fabric aside just enough to reveal her collarbone.
There. Just above her heart. A mark the size of a silver dollar, shimmering ink forming interlocking circles and symbols she couldn’t read.
“It’s beautiful,” she admitted.
“It’s protection.” He rebuttoned her blouse with the same efficiency. “It warns other demons you’re claimed.”
“Do you have one?”
“No. The claiming demon doesn’t need a mark.” His mouth curved slightly. “Everyone knows who I am.”
He returned to the table, all business again. Like the kiss hadn’t happened. Like she wasn’t still feeling it in every nerve ending.
“We should discuss logistics. You’ll need to move some belongings to my apartment.”
“Excuse me?”
“For appearances. Lilith will be watching for inconsistencies. If we’re together, you’d be spending nights there.”
“I’m not moving in with you.”
She said it too quickly. Too sharp. Victor’s eyebrow lifted a fraction.
“Not permanently. Clothes, toiletries, evidence of presence.” He pulled out his phone. “I have a guest room. Separate bathroom. A lock on the door, if that helps.”
A lock on the door. As if the problem was her safety. As if she needed protection from him.
She remembered his hand in her hair. The way he’d angled her head back. The sound she’d made against his mouth.
Fake, she reminded herself again.All fake.
“When would I need to actually stay there?”
“Social functions. Late work nights when being seen leaving together matters.” He looked up from his phone, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps twice a week initially. Tapering off as the arrangement becomes established.”
Two nights a week. In his apartment. With a lock on the door and sixty days of pretending she hadn’t felt something in that kiss.
Ava weighed her options. A few nights a week in a guest room, or more kisses like that one in public. More opportunities for her body to betray what her mind knew was fake.
“Guest room,” she said firmly.
