I hold his stare for a beat too long, and my heart hammers in the hush of the room. Then, with a slow exhale, I roll over and give him my back, squeezing my eyes shut as heat pulsates at my core.

Minutes pass.

Astrid’s rhythmic snores continue.

The stillness hums in my ears.

But when I dare another glance, the doorway is empty.

11

Silverware scrapes plates. Fabric shifts against rustic chairs. Glances meet, then break, too many times to count. It’s another day, another meal, and I’m caught in a maddening loop that never ends.

I’d hoped to sleep off the residue of finding Oliver in my doorway last night, but it still clings to me at the breakfast table.

“That color suits you.”

His remark comes out of nowhere, and I nearly choke on my yogurt.

“What?”

“Your dress.” He tips his coffee mug toward me before taking a careful sip. “It fits you well.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Not at all. You’re a designer, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but…” I glance down at the long knit piece that matches my brown eyes. “I didn’t design this.”

“Regardless, it hugs you in all the right places.” He nods at my fitted bodice and the hint of cleavage there. “You obviously have an eye for style. You should wear your own work.”

“I’ve worn some of my designs at formal events.”

“What about branching out?” He sets the mug down, his gaze steady as he weighs more than just the question. “Have you considered a lingerie line?”

“I haven’t.”

“You should. Something provocative and bold. I can get you buyers.”

The last of my eggs sit forgotten, cooling on the plate. My mind isn’t on food or clothing or new customers. It’s on what happened in my suite last night. Oliver, meanwhile, carries on like nothing happened, idly chatting as if he has nothing to hide—as if he didn’t stand in the shadows and watch me unravel beneath my own hand.

I chew the inside of my cheek, debating whether to confront him, but he’s already speaking again.

“Aren’t you interested in expanding your brand?” His smirk holds too much heat to be harmless. “I can help with inspiration, if you need it.”

“I’m more interested in why you were standing in my doorway last night.” If my accusation unsettles him, he doesn’t show it.

“Was I?”

“You know you were.” I give him a pointed look. “Unless there’s a ghost in this tower who looks exactly like you.”

“You should ask yourself why you didn’t look away sooner.”

Glaring at him, I cross my arms. “I did look away.”

“Not soon enough.”

“Excuse me?” His words hit a nerve, sending a jolt down my spine.

“You heard me.”

“All I heard was absolute nonsense.”