The lock clicked at exactly eight PM.
Matteo carried the chessboard. He set it up on the table and gestured for me to sit.
I did.
But instead of sitting in his usual chair across from me, Matteo pulled it around to my side of the table. Close enough that our knees almost touched. Close enough that I could smell his cologne—something dark and expensive that made my head swim.
"New strategy?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Something like that." He set up the pieces. "Your move."
We played.
But everything felt different with him sitting beside me instead of across from me. Every time we both reached for the board, our hands brushed. His shoulder pressed against mine when he leaned forward to move a piece. His thigh rested against mine under the table.
I couldn't concentrate. Could barely remember basic strategy. My king was in danger within fifteen moves and I hadn't even noticed until Matteo pointed it out.
"You're distracted," he observed.
"I wonder why."
His lips curved. "Am I making you nervous, Stefan?"
"You're sitting so close I can feel your pulse."
"That's not an answer."
I turned to face him. Our faces were inches apart. I could see the scar through his eyebrow. Count his eyelashes. Feel his breath against my lips.
"Yes," I admitted. "You make me nervous. You make me a lot of things."
"Like what?"
"Confused. Angry. Scared." I held his gaze. "Interested."
"Interested." His hand came up to cup my jaw—the same gesture from that first night, but softer now. Familiar. "That's one word for it."
"What would you call it?"
"Obsessed." His thumb brushed my cheekbone. "I can't stop thinking about you. Can't focus on anything else. My partners think I'm losing my mind. They're probably right."
"Is that why you bought me clothes? To make yourself feel better about being obsessed with your prisoner?"
"I bought you clothes because I hated seeing you in things that didn't fit. Because I wanted you comfortable. Because—" He stopped. Shook his head. "Because I'm obsessed with you and I can't help myself."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "What are we doing, Matteo?"
"I don't know." His voice was raw. Honest in a way I hadn't heard before. "I should let you go. Should send you back to yourfather or use you as leverage or do literally anything except keep you locked in this room while I fall deeper into wanting you."
"But you won't."
"No." His eyes held mine. "I won't."
We stared at each other. The chess game forgotten. The careful distance we'd been maintaining completely shattered.
"I thought about what you said last night," I whispered. "About waiting until I was sure. Until I chose this."
"And?"
