Page 243 of The Professor's Wife

“Why?”

His eyes lowered to my mouth. “Because I don’t know you well enough to feel this fucking certain.”

“Certain of what?”

His jaw flexed. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer.

“How badly I want to keep you here. In this room.”

The wordkeepsettled low inside me. It wasn’t the same as asking me to stay. There was something rougher beneath it. Something he was still refusing to name, but he knew. It should have made me want to step back.

Instead, I moved closer.

He tensed again, but it wasn’t fear—it was restraint. His fingers twitched in his pockets, like he was holding himself back from reaching for me.

“You’re still not coming closer,” I said quietly.

“If I do,” he murmured, “I won’t be able to pretend I don’t want you.”

My heart thudded painfully. “And pretending is safer?”

“For you,” he said. “Not for me.”

I felt myself unraveling, the knot within me loosening after being pulled tight too long. He watched it happen, his gaze tracing every shift in my expression.

I didn’t understand this. I had a feeling he didn’t either.

The silence between us was heavy with everything we wanted and weren’t doing.

“I’m tired of thinking,” I whispered honestly. “Let’s stop pretending. We’re here for a reason, aren’t we?”

Before he could respond, I brought my hand behind my back. Finding the zipper, I pulled it down, letting my dress loosen and then drop to the floor. Though my heart beat rapidly, I felt unusually calm. Certain. Like this was easy as breathing.

With parted lips, Tristan’s gaze drifted over me. He swallowed thickly, whispering in a pained way, “Fuck.”

Now his eyes met mine, and there was a dangerous edge in them. “You sure you want this, Daisy?”

“Am I not making it clear enough?” I returned, standing half-naked before him.

“I don’t think I can be gentle.” His blunt words should have unnerved me.

“I’m not fragile.”

He didn’t look like he believed me. Warily, he said, “I don’t want to nurse someone’s regret after. I’m not responsible for your bad choices.”

“Are you saying you’re a bad choice?”

His eyes bore into mine, unwavering. “I’m a bad choice because you’ll wake up tomorrow and remember who you are…and who I’m not.”

I considered his words for a moment. I might regret him. I might regret everything that came after. But at least the regret would belong to me.

So, I said, “Maybe you are a bad choice. But you’re the first choice I’ve made that feels like mine.”

For a moment, Tristan didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

It was as if my words had struck something deep inside him. His throat worked as he swallowed, and his gaze dropped, just briefly, to the floor between us. He needed a second to steady himself before he could look at me again.

When he lifted his eyes, they were filled with resolve.