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I blink in surprise. “Okay.”

Still with his eyes trained on mine, he asks, “Is your fascination with me due to the fact you can’t read me? That you can’t find any weaknesses to exploit?”

I laugh to disguise my spiking blood pressure. “Good Lord, are you high?”

“Answer the question, Amelia.”

I glance down the hallway. Where the fuck is a bystander when you need one?

I’m unravelling, on shifting earth. He’s too close to the truth. A truth I haven’t even admitted to myself yet.

“I’m not comfortable with this conversation,” I say stiffly.

“I’m not comfortable with you,” he snaps, then goes rigid, mouth thinned and jaw clenched.

My eyes fly to his face. “What? What the hell does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

Anger is a hot, bright blessing, soothing away the rough edges of my emotions. I point a shaking finger at his chest. “Fuck that. Fuck you. I haven’t done anything to you. And trust me, there are about a million things I want—and could—do to you!”

“Like what?” he bites out.

I step right up to him, my face tilted just inches from his and my accusing finger wedged between us. “I want to ruin your fucking life!”

His gaze flies over my face. “Why?” he asks mutedly, as though he really wants to know.

Because I want you.

Because I trust you.

Because you see me.

I take a shaky step back, then another, until a safe three feet separate us. Only then do I notice his hands clenched at his sides. The rapid rise and fall of his chest.

Finally, I confront his eyes. And in them, my worst nightmare is confirmed. No longer ice, but fire—desire.

“You don’t wear a wedding ring!” I blurt.

He frowns. “I’m not married.” Then his expression clears. “You were listening at the door.”

“Yes, dumbass,” I say belligerently.

He shakes his head. When he looks at me again the fire is gone, and he’s once again the cool and collected Dr. Chastain.

“This conversation is over. My personal life is none of your business, nor will it ever be. Please refrain in the future from eavesdropping on my private conversations.”

The words are a bucket of cold water on my face and heart. Nor will it ever be. I can’t decide whether his proclamation makes me hate him or respect him even more.

I nod rigidly. “Good night, Dr. Chastain.”

With a final, searing glance, he kicks the door closed between us.

15

HERE COMES THE GROUND

DAY 11