Yes. Tell me where.
The speed of it startled you. It should have sent you home. It should have made you pause long enough to ask why a man as controlled as Ethan had been ready so quickly, why he had not asked Are you sure, or Are you okay, or even Why tonight.
Instead, you told yourself desire can also be quiet.
You told yourself that maybe decisive men only look dangerous to people who have spent their whole lives being uncertain. You told yourself that wanting someone after a year of restraint did not make you foolish. You told yourself many things on the ride up to the eighth floor.
Now he stands a few feet away from you, jacket off, tie loosened, the city lights catching in the silver at his temples.
“Are you nervous?” he asks.
His voice is gentle, the same voice that once talked you down from tears after a client humiliated you in a conference room full of executives. The same voice that told you not to apologize for caring too much. The same voice that made you believe tenderness could arrive in a tailored suit and expensive shoes.
You nod because pretending would be ridiculous.
“Mr. Cole,” you whisper, then almost laugh at yourself for saying it so formally here of all places. “I’m still a virgin. I’ve never been with any man in my life. I’m scared… scared I won’t know what to do.”
Then the room changes.
