“Were you?” he asks. His thumb brushes once over my pulse. “Stalking me.”
The music still thumps faintly from Callie’s room. A car passes outside.
But between us?
There’s only silence.
His eyes search mine.
He already knows the answer.
He saw the binder.
The picture.
The pieces of myself I wasn’t ready for him to see.
But that’s not really what he’s asking.
“Does it scare you?” I ask.
His breath catches.
His fingers tighten a fraction. Enough to tell me everything.
“Violet,” he whispers.
My name sounds like a warning. Or a plea.
“You came here looking for proof,” I say softly.
He doesn’t move.
“And you found it.”
His throat works.
“So what are you really asking me?”
His gaze drops to my mouth.
Then lifts back to mine.
For a moment, I don’t think he’ll answer.
“Why me?” he whispers.
Something inside me stills.
He didn’t ask whether I wanted him.
He accepted that I did.
He simply doesn’t understand why.
I lift my hand and touch his cheek.
His eyes close for half a second. Like some part of him already trusts me, even while the rest of him is still trying to catch up.
