Time stretched. The silence in the small space grew heavy, thick with unspoken words and the lingering electricity from his touch.
Jordyn couldn't look at him. Looking at him made her feel too much, too fast. So she stared straight ahead, at the top button of his shirt. She focused on it, trying to anchor her racing mind.
But her mind wouldn't stay anchored. It drifted, imagining what those long, elegant fingers might feel like if they weren't attached to a Wall Street tycoon. If they were attached to an artist, maybe. Someone who would use them to paint, to sculpt, to touch her with the same intensity he used to close a deal.
She bit her lower lip, hard, trying to snap herself out of it. The sharp pain brought her back to reality, but it also brought a rush of color to her cheeks.
Hoyt saw it all. The way her pupils dilated as she stared at his chest. The way her teeth sank into the plump flesh of her lip. He knew exactly what it meant.
What are you thinking about? he wondered, a dark thrill coursing through him. You look like you're thinking about sin. Are you thinking about me?
A faint smile touched the corners of his mouth before he quickly suppressed it, replacing it with a look of stern concern.
"We have a problem," he said, his voice low and serious.
Jordyn's head snapped up, her daydream shattered. "What? What is it?"
"I think they're getting suspicious," Hoyt said, looking past her shoulder toward the door. "Gus is looking this way."
Jordyn's stomach dropped. She twisted her head to look, but the angle was bad. All she could see was the same sliver of light under the door.
Gus isn't looking this way.
He turned his head back to her, catching her gaze and holding it. His gray eyes were dark, unreadable. "Hiding like this... it makes us look guilty. If they come over here, we're caught."
Jordyn felt a fresh wave of panic. "So what do we do?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Hoyt held her gaze for a long moment, pretending to wrestle with a difficult decision. Then he let out a soft sigh, his expression shifting to one of reluctant resolve.
"Jordyn," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "We need to make this look... convincing."
"Convincing?" she repeated, confused.
His gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth. He watched, mesmerized, as her tongue darted out to wet her lips in nervousness.
"Think about it," he said, his voice taking on a hypnotic quality. "If we were just hiding, we'd look suspicious. But if we were a couple... seeking a moment of privacy... nobody would question it."
Jordyn's brain short-circuited. The words "a couple" hung in the air between them, heavy and loaded. She understood what he was implying instantly. The heat rushed back to her face, ten times worse than before.
"No," she stammered, shaking her head. "I can't... Mr. David, we shouldn't..."
He lifted a hand. His index finger pressed gently against her lips, silencing her. The touch was electric. She could feel the slight roughness of his skin, the warmth of his fingertip.
"Shh," he murmured, his eyes locked on hers. They were deep, sincere, and utterly disarming. "It's just an act. It's the only way to get you out of here safely. Trust me."
Trust me. The words wrapped around her, a spell she couldn't break. He was so calm, so reasonable. He was offering her a lifeline, and she was too desperate, too grateful, to refuse.
If she said no, she was admitting she didn't trust him. She was admitting she thought he had ulterior motives. And after everything he had done for her, that felt like a betrayal.
She stood there, trapped between her shame and her survival instinct. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Then, slowly, stiffly, she nodded.
