She’d been doing mental math for the past hour, cataloging every almost-touch, every near-miss. None of it helped.
Forty minutes ago, his hand had brushed hers over the pillow wall. Just fingertips grazing knuckles. Accidental, maybe, excepthe hadn’t pulled away for three full seconds. She’d counted. Three seconds of contact that burned through her nervous system like electricity.
Thirty minutes ago, she’d heard him whisper “Ava” so quietly she might have imagined it. Might have dreamed it. Except she wasn’t sleeping, and neither was he, and the way he’d said her name sounded like a prayer or a curse or both.
Twenty minutes ago, the mattress had dipped as he shifted. She’d felt the movement through every nerve in her body.
Ten minutes ago, the last pillow had slipped. Gravity or intention, she didn’t know. Didn’t care. Now she could feel the heat radiating from his body across the inches between them. Close enough to touch if she reached out. Close enough to feel his warmth on her bare arm.
“This is ridiculous,” she said to the ceiling.
“Utterly.”
The single word scraped out of him, low and wrecked, like he’d been holding it back for hours.
The mattress dipped as he turned toward her. In the moonlight streaming through the gauze curtains, she could make out his profile: the sharp line of his jaw, the disheveled hair falling across his forehead. Six thousand years old and he had bedhead like a college student. That undid her more than all his polished perfection ever had.
“We’re adults,” she continued, still addressing the ceiling because looking at him felt dangerous.
“Technically, I’m several centuries older than you.”
“We’re lying here pretending to sleep when neither of us can because?—”
“Because if I touch you right now, I won’t stop.”
The words landed like sparks on dry kindling.
She turned her head to look at him. His eyes caught the moonlight, dark pools with that inhuman shimmer in his irises. Fixed on her face with an intensity that made her pause.
“We said we’d wait,” she whispered. “Be sensible.”
“We did.”
“Not rush into anything.”
“Very sensible.” He shifted closer. Just an inch, but she felt it like a seismic event. One pillow tumbled to the floor with a soft thump. “But we both know we’re past that now.”
Another pillow fell as she turned toward him. Face-to-face. Close enough to feel his breath against her lips. Close enough to see the tension in his jaw, the careful control that was fraying at the edges.
“I’ve been sure for weeks,” he said. “Since before the arrangement, if I’m honest. Since the moment you walked into that interview and looked at me like I was just another obstacle to overcome.”
She reached across the remaining pillows, found his hand. Interlaced their fingers. His skin was warm, his grip immediate and fierce.
“So have I,” she admitted.
His free hand came up to cup her cheek. Gentle. Reverent. Like she was precious and breakable, even though they both knew she wasn’t.
“If we do this, everything changes.” His thumb traced her cheekbone. “The arrangement. The firm. Everything.”
She leaned into his touch, turning her face to press a kiss against his palm. “I know.”
“I haven’t felt this way in six thousand years.” His voice dropped, almost wondering. “Maybe never. I’ve had centuries to learn what I want, and I never—I didn’t know I was waiting until you arrived.”
“That’s very specific.”
“I’m a lawyer. Specificity is?—”
She kissed him.
