Page 88 of His Good Girl

“I know.”

“Do you?”

I nodded.

“I mean that, Avery.”

“I know you do.”

His expression softened, and that was worse than the firmness. The tenderness made me feel young in a way I hated, not little, but exposed, vulnerable. Like he could see every ugly little reason I had wanted to provoke him. I wanted attention. I wanted confirmation. I wanted proof that the past few days had not been something I had invented out of hormones, loneliness, and one good dinner.

“I’m sorry,” I offered quietly.

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then he lifted a hand and placed it on my shoulder. It was meant to be steadying. A godfather’s touch. A mentor’s reassurance with nothing inappropriate about it. He only set his hand there for one brief second, warm through the thin fabric of my blouse, and I felt his restraint in everything about it.

My body did not care about his intentions.

The heat of his hand moved down my arm, across my chest, low in my belly. My breath caught before I could stop it. His fingers tightened by one involuntary degree, and then he removed his hand as if he had touched a flame.

We both looked at the door.

“I should go.” I rushed the words out but didn’t move.

“Yes,” he agreed.

He turned the handle and opened the door halfway.

Outside, I could see Benjamin’s desk, empty for once, his chair pushed in, the hallway beyond it quiet in the after-hours hush. Most of the floor had emptied while we were inside. Somewhere far away, a phone rang once and stopped. The office lights reflected softly in the glass walls. The path out was open. Callum held the door and I took one step toward it, but then, his hand moved and he closed it again. The soft click of the latch sounded loud.

I froze.

He stood behind me for an interminable moment, close enough that I could feel his presence before he moved. Then the lock turned.

Every cell in my body stilled.

Callum stepped in, facing me, his back to the door now, one hand still near the lock. His eyes were darker than I had ever seen them. He looked disciplined and dangerous, which was making my core flutter with traitorous need.

“Do you want me to unlock it?” he asked quietly.

My throat closed. He was giving me an out. He was giving me a way to step back into the world where nothing had happened yet, where this was still enigmatic looks, careful warnings, and a private fantasy I could take home and hate myself for.

I looked at the lock.

Then at him.

I could not answer.

Callum watched the blush rise in my face. Watched my silence. Watched my fingers tighten around the notebook until the cardboard cover bent.

His voice dropped.

“I didn’t think so.”

He gave me one second.

Maybe less.