Page 3

Instead, I cross the room and sit.

Jax pours my coffee, adds one sugar and a splash of cream, then places the mug in front of me.

“You slept well.”

I wrap my hands around it. “I did.”

“Any dreams?”

He reaches toward my face. I follow the movement before I can stop myself, watching his hand until his knuckles brush my cheek. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

He touches me so gently that I lean into his palm.

Only a little. Only for a second.

His eyes narrow, and I know he noticed.

“None that I remember.”

I take a sip, giving myself something else to do instead of being consumed by him.

His fingers move down my neck, stopping beside the bruise above my collarbone. He brushes it with his thumb. His expression holds no apology.

Then he withdraws his hand and lifts three small, leather-bound volumes from the cart’s lower shelf.

I stare as he sets them beside my plate.

Wuthering Heights.

I mentioned wanting to see a first edition three days ago. It wasn’t a request. We’d been talking about books, and I’d let myself forget who I was talking to.

“You finished the other one,” he says.

I touch the worn leather of the top volume.

He remembered.

Of course he remembered. He watches me constantly. He knows when I wake, how much I eat, which side of the bed I sleep on. I shouldn’t confuse attention with kindness.

His attention thrills me before I can resist it. Then I think of Ari, and my hand goes still beside the books.

“Thank you.”

The words come easily. That bothers me almost as much as the pleasure warming my chest.

I nearly say his name.

Instead, I pull my plate closer and break off a piece of croissant.

Sunlight falls across the table. Jax stands beside me while I eat, close enough that my knee almost touches his leg. There’s coffee, a book I wanted, a man who remembers what I like.

Anyone looking in through the window might think we were having an ordinary breakfast.

They wouldn’t see the camera above the door.

Jax adjusts his shirt cuff.

“I need to leave the estate.”