The moment she nodded, Hoyt felt a surge of triumph so intense it was almost physical. But his face remained a mask of grim duty. He couldn't let her see the predator. Not yet.
Jordyn closed her eyes. She couldn't watch. She tilted her chin up slightly, her lips parted, her body rigid with tension. She was offering herself up, waiting for the blow.
She waited for the press of his lips. The invasion. The kiss that would seal this strange bargain.
It didn't come.
Instead, she felt a feather-light touch on her mouth. Hoyt's thumb brushed across her lower lip, slowly, deliberately. The pad of his finger was warm, slightly calloused, and the sensation it sparked was nothing like she had imagined.
It wasn't an invasion. It was a caress. A slow, melting heat that spread from her lips down to her toes.
Jordyn's eyes flew open.
He was looking at her. His gray eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide, but his expression was one of absolute control. There was no lust on his face. Only a gentle, almost paternal restraint.
To kiss you now would be too easy, he thought, his thumb lingering on the soft curve of her lip. It would be taking. I want you to give. I want you to beg for it. This... this is enough to make you doubt everything.
"That's enough," he said, his voice a low, rough rasp. "From a distance, this looks intimate. It looks... convincing."
He pulled his hand back, breaking the contact. The air between them suddenly felt cold.
Jordyn stared at him, her mind blank. Then, a wave of shame and gratitude crashed over her, so powerful it made her dizzy.
She had thought he was going to kiss her. She had thought he was going to take advantage of the situation, of her. But he hadn't. He had stopped. He had been the perfect gentleman.
He was exactly what he appeared to be. A good man. A decent man.
Look at her, Hoyt thought, watching the emotions play across her face. She thinks I'm a saint. She has no idea I'm imagining what it would feel like to devour her whole.
His hand was still tingling from the contact. The softness of her lip was burned into his skin. He shoved his hand deep into his pocket, his fingers curling into a tight fist, his nails biting into his palm. The pain was a necessary distraction. It was the only thing keeping him from pulling her flush against him and taking what he wanted.
"Thank you," Jordyn whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for... for being so understanding."
"Call me Hoyt," he said.
It wasn't a request. It was a command, delivered with a gentle smile.
Jordyn blinked. "What?"
"'Mr. David' is too formal," he said, his tone light but firm. "After what we've just been through, I think we can drop that. I want to hear you say my name."
She hesitated. Calling him by his first name felt dangerous. It felt like crossing a line. But after what he had just done-after he had protected her and respected her-refusing seemed churlish.
"Okay," she said softly. "Hoyt."
The sound of his name on her lips sent a jolt of pure satisfaction through him. It was a small victory, but a crucial one. It was the first thread in the web.
He looked toward the door. "I think it worked. They're moving away."
Jordyn let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She believed him completely. She had no idea that she had just stepped deeper into the trap.
