I rush past Mr. Park, unsure where to go, just knowing I need to escape. Mr. Park catches up to me and gently grips my arm, guiding me out of the front office and into the hallway. He doesn’t let go but instead tightens his hold. The action doesn’t hurt. It feels possessive. As though he’s laying claim to me. This sends a wild thrill down my spine.

“In here,” Mr. Park murmurs, pushing through a door marked Staff Only. “Copy room.”

The room is nothing more than a closet. A giant copy machine sits along the wall and the other two walls are floor-to-ceiling shelves covered with reams of paper and other supplies. There’s space for both of us, but adding a third person would be a tight squeeze.

He pushes the door closed behind me, leaving his palm on the door, caging me in. My heart rate kicks up at his proximity.

“Do you really need help?” I ask, my voice breathless and faraway.

Amusement briefly dances across his features, lighting up his eyes and making the corners of his mouth twitch like he might smile. “I’m quite capable of making copies myself. You, on the other hand, needed a breather.”

I note that he doesn’t drop his hand. If anything, it feels as though he’s leaning closer into me. He’s so near I can smell his cologne—a hint of spice and maybe apples. Whatever it is, it reminds me a little of Christmas. That makes my heart swell.

“You’re smiling,” he murmurs. “I was just sure I was going to be met with tears.”

I grin, chancing a look up at him through my lashes. “I’m stronger than I look.”

Too bad I don’t believe those words. I want him to, though. I want this man to see me as someone who could be his equal. Someone he would want to take to bed with him. I want to be seen as a woman, not some helpless girl.

“You shouldn’t have to be.” He lifts a hand like he might touch my face. I hold my breath, praying he does, and then exhale a disappointed sigh when he fists his hand and drops it back down. “Your family is supposed to look out for you.”

“We’re not exactly close.” I hate that the conversation has moved from our almost playful banter to his concern for my familial relationships. “Darren didn’t like that my mom came with baggage.”

Mr. Park’s eyes narrow. “You are not baggage.”

His fierce tone sends currents of buzzing electricity through every nerve ending. I shift on my feet and chew on my bottom lip. The copy room is completely silent aside from our breathing that seems to be heavier than before. It feels as though all the air has been sucked from the room, leaving me hot and desperate for a cool breath.