I lay silent, acutely aware of his breathing gradually slowing behind me. My mind raced despite bone-deep exhaustion. What bizarre twist of fate had led me here?
And the worst part? I couldn't deny the pull I felt toward him.
"This is insanity," I whispered to myself, words barely disturbing the darkness.
"What is?" came his immediate reply, proving he wasn't as close to sleep as I'd thought.
I froze, mortified at being caught in vulnerable self-reflection. "Nothing. Go to sleep."
"Is it the ladder piercing?" he asked, voice closer than I expected. "Because that tends to provoke strong reactions. Usually positive ones, though."
"God, you're insufferable," I muttered, but without any real heat. "Not everything is about your... modifications."
"Then what's insane?" he persisted, the mattress shifting as he turned toward me. "This situation? Being hunted? Or the fact that you're attracted to me despite knowing what I am?"
My breath caught, heart slamming against my ribs. The direct acknowledgment of what had been simmering between us since our first meeting in my office knocked the air from my lungs.
"That's ridiculous," I said, the denial automatic but unconvincing even to me.
"Is it?" His voice dropped lower, rough velvet in the darkness. “Then why do you keep looking at me like you want me to eat you up?”
I swallowed hard. "I’m not afraid of you."
"Maybe you should be," he said softly.
I turned my head to look at him, dragging my eyes slowly down and then back up his body. “I nearly defeated you with broccoli afew hours ago. You don’t scare me, Luka.” I settled in, staring at the ceiling. “This is just Stockholm Syndrome."
"It's not Stockholm Syndrome if I was into you before I kidnapped you," he replied. "And it's not trauma bonding if the attraction was there during our first session, before any trauma occurred."
I turned to face him then, unable to maintain the pretense of disinterest. In the dim light, his eyes gleamed with feverish intensity, but his gaze was clear and direct.
"You're attracted to dangerous men," he said, not a question but a statement of fact. "It's written all over you. The way you react when I get close. The way you pushed back during our session instead of being intimidated. The way you looked at me when I pinned you to your floor."
"That's a professional observation," I replied, trying to regain control of the conversation. "You forget I'm trained to analyze behavioral patterns."
"And yet you don't deny it." His voice had a rough edge that sent heat pooling low in my abdomen. "I saw your reaction when I had you pinned. Felt it, actually."
My face burned at the memory of my embarrassing physical response when he'd straddled me in my apartment. "Fight-or-flight response can trigger various physiological reactions. Basic biology."
"Keep hiding behind psychological terms if it makes you feel better. But we both know what's happening here."
"And what exactly is that?"
"Something inevitable." The mattress dipped as he shifted closer, not touching me but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. "Something that started the moment I walked into your office."
I should have moved away. Should have shut down this dangerous line of conversation. Instead, I found myself suspended in the moment, breath caught in my lungs.
"You're delirious," I managed finally. "Your fever's talking."
"Maybe," he conceded, retreating to his side of the bed. "But fever just lowers inhibitions, doc. It doesn't create desires that weren't already there."
I turned away again, heart hammering against my ribs. "Go to sleep, Luka."
"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I have a strict policy against getting emotionally involved with targets. Look how well that turned out."
"Why did you do it?" I asked. "You never answered. Why risk everything for someone you barely know?"
Silence stretched so long I thought he might have fallen asleep. Then, so quietly I barely heard it: "Because you saw me. Not the asset. Not the weapon. Me."
