Page 2 of Dissonance

“I remember you liking my mouth,” he murmurs, thumb brushing my lower lip. “Especially when I was using it properly.”

My body betrays me instantly. Spine arching before I can stop it, a small, humiliating sound catching in the back of my throat. Then his hand lands firmly on my ass unapologetically, and the whimper that escapes is considerably less dignified.

“Last night was fun,” he says, stepping back just enough to break the spell. “We should do it again sometime.”

“There won’t be an again,” I retort, steel injected into my tone. “There shouldn’t have even been a this time.”

He studies me for a moment, expression unreadable. “If you say so.”

Turning toward the bathroom, he walks away, and frustration coils tight in my chest. He’s not even arguing. He never does. And that’s the thing about Lockie; every word he speaks is deliberate. Every word he doesn’t say is too.

“Lachlan.”

He pauses and glances over his shoulder.

“I just signed Reign. You’re his bodyguard. I’m now his manager.” I hold his gaze and make myself say the quiet part out loud, the part that lives permanently in my marrow. “I’ve spent years making sure nobody in this industry could look at what I’ve built and question it. Not the talent or hard work or the dues I’ve paid to get me here. I will not hand people a reason to doubt that. Not now. Not over this.”

Something moves behind his eyes. Not surprise—he already knew all of this—but the kind of recognition that comes from understanding a situation and still wishing it were different.

“You think I don’t understand the optics, Thea?” His voice is quiet, careful. “I’ve spent my whole life navigating them.”

“Then you understand,” I say, swallowing, “we can’t do this again.”

Silence stretches heavily before he shrugs, and that maddening smirk pulls at his lips. “That’s not the first time you’ve said that.”

His expression shifts, not mocking or indifferent, but something almost unbearably familiar. Like a man who knows exactly how this song ends because he’s heard it before. Because we’ve been here before.

But then the bathroom door closes, and I stare at it for half a second, stunned, the sound of running water muffled behind it.

That bastard just shut the goddamn door on me.

Oh, hell no.

Dropping my blouse to the floor, I march forward and knock sharply against the wood. It opens almost immediately, steam curling around him as he braces one arm high against the doorframe.

“I mean it,” I say. “This cannot happen again.”

He leans down slightly, voice low enough that it moves through me. “That’s what you said last time. And the time before that. And the time before—”

“And I meant it.” My jaw tightens, fire flashing through my veins. “Every time.”

“Aye. You always do,” he says calmly as his gaze sweeps over me with a patience that is somehow more infuriating than desire—lingering long enough on the lace at my chest that I feel it like a touch.

He turns without another word, and I get the full, unobstructed view of his back tapering to his waist, the shift of muscles beneath his skin, and—God, help me—that ass. Sculpted, unfair, the kind that makes a person forget what they were annoyed about thirty seconds ago.

I’m still staring at the empty space when I hear the shower door open.

“Get dressed, Thea.” His voice carries over the rush of water. “Before I change my mind and drag you in here with me.”

I move fast, grabbing my pants from the chair and stepping into them, fingers slipping once before I yank the zipper up with more force than necessary. I just need to get dressed and get out. By the time I’m fastening the buckle on my heel, movement catches in the corner of my eye. I turn sharply, finding him back in that goddamn doorframe, watching me like this is the most entertaining part of his morning.

His mouth curves. “I’ll take it you’re not joining me, then?”

Sending him a glare, I straighten my blouse and grab my bag. “Not a chance.”

“Your loss, sweetheart.”

I storm out into the hallway without saying goodbye, the ghost of his laugh following me.