He studies my features with excruciating attention. “I never forget a person.”
“I have one of those common faces,” I manage, attempting a casual shrug that comes across as forced.
“No,” Ezra murmurs, “you don’t.”
He reaches out, and I flinch back, nearly toppling a crystal paperweight on Aaiden’s desk. Ezra’s hand pauses mid-air, then drops to his side, but his expression hardens.
“Who are you really?” he demands, the casual curiosity replaced by a dangerous growl.
I need to leave. Now. Before he gets any closer, before his Alpha senses cut through my careful deception. “I’m just someone trying to do the right thing.” I edge toward the door. “I’ve given Mr. Rockford my message. Jade needs help. That’s all that matters.”
Ezra moves with unexpected speed, cutting off my path to freedom. “That’s notallthat matters.”
I back away again, heart hammering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” He follows my retreat, step for step, until my back hits the bookshelf. “Your scent is blocked. Industrial grade suppressants, the kind professionals use. Not a prescription a Good Samaritan has access to.”
He plants one hand on the shelf beside my head, leaning in until the heat radiating from his body sinks into me. His stare bores into mine, searching beyond my fake glasses and colored contacts.
“You have beautiful hands.” His focus drops to my fingers on the bookshelf. “Artist’s hands. I’ve seen them before.”
My breath catches. He can’t possibly?—
“I’ve touched them before,” Ezra continues, his Alpha rumble vibrating through me. “Watched them sketch in my window seat, while you were wrapped in my sheets.”
The air evaporates from my lungs. I try to slide away, but his other arm comes up, caging me between his body and the books.
“Impossible,” I manage, the denial weak to my own ears.
Ezra leans closer, his breath warm on my cheek. He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring as he samples what little of my natural scent escapes the blockers. He leans in until his lips brush my ear, his words a warm caress.
“I thought I smelled a ghost.”
4
Ican’t move, can’t breathe, as Ezra’s words hang in the air between us.
My carefully constructed disguise, the one that fooled Jade and Aaiden, falls apart in front of him. The study closes in around us, the air thick and unbreathable as Ezra’s pheromones wrap around me in a familiar scent I’ve been missing for too long.
“A year.” His tongue skims his bottom lip, as if tasting the air. “A year of searching, and you just walk right back into my life.”
I remain frozen, my heart hammering so hard I fear it might crack my ribs. The grandfather clock in the corner ticks louder with each passing second, marking time in a room where it seems to have stopped.
“Nothing to say?” He touches my jaw, tilting my face up before he pulls away, rubbing the makeup from his fingertips. “No explanation? No apology?”
My throat constricts, words dying before they reach my lips. I should deny everything. Should push him away and run while I still can. But my body betrays me, responding to his proximity, old desires awakening as if no time has passed at all.
“I made some inquiries after you left.” His breath warms my ear, so close that the vibration of his words travel through me. “Professor Elias Knox of the Art History Department. Credentials impeccable. References stellar.”
My heart squeezes. Here it comes.
“Except they don’t exist.” Ezra’s expression hardens. “Never did. The department had never heard of him. The university where he earned his doctorate had no record of him. His published papers? Ghosts in academic databases, disappearing when I dug deeper.”
He steps closer, his chest a breath from mine. “So many lies. So carefully constructed.”
I lower my head, fighting the instinct to lean into the solid warmth of his body. His proximity scrambles my senses, melting my resolve to resist him.
“Look at me,” he rasps.
