It’s exhilarating, the way Oliver watches me every night. I’m becoming addicted to the attention, to the ache low in my core that lingers long after he’s gone.

And then there’s the anticipation. The possibility that one night he might actually step inside my bedroom.

It’s a secret hope I can barely admit to myself.

“I can’t do this with you.” I jump up from the couch and fold my arms across my chest.

But he’s right behind me.

Out of sight.

Not touching, just hovering.

“I think you can.” His exhale hits my nape, sending delicious shivers down my limbs. “And I think you want to, so I’m going to haunt your doorway every night until you do.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I’ve had many women since Talitha.” Slowly, he pulls his coat off my shoulders. “But none made me ache the way you do.” Leaning down, he kisses the hollow of my neck, a whisper of lips on skin, though that brief touch shoots straight to my pussy.

I suck in a breath, vocal cords stuck in a vise.

“Would you like to know what I do every night after watching you?” He tosses the damp jacket onto the sofa, and I wish I could hide under it.

“No.”

“Definitely the right answer. The details would make you wet.”

He presses into me from behind, and the hard length of his cock fits snug against the swell of my ass.

“This is what you do to me. Having you in this house every waking moment, not being able to touch you…it’s driving me crazy. I can’t focus on work, and that makes me desperate.”

His tone says something else.

He’s not only desperate.

He’s dangerous.

So why am I not frightened? My inability to act, to move, to put an end to this right now is the most dangerous thing of all.

After a hard gulp, I find my voice. “Then maybe you should send me back to Liam. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your work.”

“Work can fuck right off. And so can Liam.” His hand curls around my hip, squeezing twice before letting me go. “You’re not ready now, but you will be.”

I turn to face him. “No, I won’t.”

“We’ll see.” His familiar and confident smirk transforms him back into the version of Oliver I know.

Someone aloof and in control.

Not desperate or dangerous.

And I hate that I’m disappointed by how easily he buried that raw, vulnerable part of himself.

15

I’m back in Dr. Price’s office, sitting on the edge of his pretentious settee. The velvet beneath me carries a chill, more from the atmosphere than the fabric itself. It’s the kind of cold that seeps into the bones. Even the fireplace burning in the corner does nothing to warm this place.