Page 76 of Don't Be in Love

“No ...” I hesitated, still rattled by his previous question.

“Thoughts on helping Dorian?”

“James.” I glared at him. “I’d rather stab myself with a spoon.”

“That doesn’t sound that bad.”

“You’d think, but it actually makes it much more painful.”

“Can’t avoid him forever,” he reminded me.

I exhaled. “What’s the room number?”

I used to have common sense. But now I was standing outside Dorian’s door like a frozen lamppost with a small sewing kit in my hand from the hotel’s nightstand, waiting for an assistant or manager or hairdresser to answer my knock.

The door finally swung open. I was met with Dorian, who was in the middle of buttoning up his untucked shirt.

It was a horrendous surprise. One that clutched my throat and ripped the air out, leaving me without any knowledge of how the English language worked.

“Adelaide.” He was taken aback. “What are you doing here?”

I held the sewing kit up. “James sent me. And I’m assuming from the look on your face that he didn’t tell you ...”

“No, he did not. Were you just with him?”

I couldn’t navigate the look on his face. It was like trying to traverse a map of London upside down. His parted lips said to come in, but the crease between his brows said to go left and exit.

“He was helping me get those pictures for my project,” I explained.

He nodded his head and moved to the side, letting me in.

Shutting the door behind us, the quiet was loud. Uncomfortable.

He sat on the ottoman at the end of the bed.

“I’m surprised you don’t have a million people running around in here.” I attempted to make conversation.

“I like to be alone when I get the chance.” His voice was gruff, turned down at his shirt, trying to finish the tiny buttons.

“I’ll make it quick then.” I put my bag down beside him.

“You know that’s not what I meant. I prefer you in every room.” He looked up and it felt so vulnerable. His body being below mine was a cruel memory. The arch of his neck to meet my gaze made my blood pump faster.

The artificial light coming in the through the windows from the lights in the street kissed his face and pressed into the angles of his cheeks.

I couldn’t isolate this person from the one I had kissed. I couldn’t watch his mouth move as he spoke and not think about when they were pressed against my lips.

“Well, that’s good, because I’m not that great at sewing so it will take me a second,” I confessed. I couldn’t help but laugh as he struggled to squeeze the buttons into the tiny slits. “This is ridiculous, let me help you.”

I pushed my hair back and kneeled on the ground.

He cleared his throat, backing up, his hips hitting the bed. “If this is your version of seducing me,” he took a breath. “It’s working.”

“Dorian,” I shook my head.

“Yes,” he exhaled.

“Stay still.” Taking the sides of his shirt into my hands and gripping each button, I pretended that this had absolutely no effect on me. That the proximity of his face to mine did nothing to my nervous system and that his warm breath against the crown of my head didn’t make my hands shake.