Page 172 of Safe Word

No smile. No softness. No nothing.

I wasn’t expecting much. But… the answer settled like a stone in my chest.

But it helped me decide: I wouldn’t say anything. I wouldn’t rock the boat.

Not today, at least.

The interview started with Cain. And it was pretty obvious it was going to end with him too.

The reporter – whose name I hadn’t caught, let alone cared to remember – launched straight in with questions about our work. Or rather, his work. The rest was just veiled curiosity masquerading as professionalism. She was too obvious – leaning forward too often to flash her cleavage, her laughter too light, her compliments too rehearsed.

It was fucking exhausting.

Cain, of course, caught on early. He was used to women orbiting him like that.

And somehow… I realised… I may not have been ready for anything with him after all. Even though I did want to protect him. Even though I did want to help him heal from his past.

But there was also the matter that I couldn’t help him heal when I was as damaged as he was.

Cain’s replies were polite, clipped, all business. No flirtation, no softness, no invitation.

And that only made her try harder.

I nearly rolled my eyes when she asked him something about inspiration and whether he found it in people around him, because her gaze lingered far too long on his chest, lips parting like it was some goddamn romcom moment.

That was when Vinnie tipped forward and tapped the back of her chair.

‘They’ll be co-writing a historical dark romance soon,’ he said, tone casual but carrying that instinctive, needling edge he used so well.

My jaw locked.

Cain didn’t correct him – didn’t say a fucking word.

And that silence grated like broken glass under skin.

‘We’re still discussing the possibility.’ The words tumbled out before I had the chance to second-guess them.

The room stilled. Even the hum of the city outside felt quieter for a second.

All three pairs of eyes turned to me.

The reporter hesitated, blinking, then offered me a tight smile.

‘I see,’ she said, her gaze sweeping over me – ankles to chin – as though she were mentally scoring me for some imaginary panel.

I wasn’t wrapped in designer fabric. But I knew how I wore this dress – how it could shift the balance in a room when I needed it to.

The thought slinked through me like a dare, purring and stretching its claws towards her.

Reclining into the velvet of the chair, I let the moment swell and crossed one leg over the other. The slit of the summer dress slipped aside just enough to reveal a hint of bare thigh.

Cain dropped his gaze to his feet, jaw realigning, pressure visible across his cheek.

Vinnie slid lower into the sofa, arms sprawled along the back, but his eyes?

They were eating me alive.

The woman, though, leaned in slightly, smile sharpening at the corners as her gaze locked with mine.