Page 179 of Exposé

Reaching for the door, I exhaled before sliding the chain and twisting the lock. The door swung open and Nate stepped inside with a large black backpack slung over his shoulder.

"You're late."

"I thought I had a tail."

My stomach revolted, my pulse spiking into my temples. "And? Did you?"

"No." He shook his head and dropped the new bag on the bed. "I drove around for a bit and ditched the vehicle." He put his hand on my waist and kissed my cheek before pulling me into his arms with a groan. "Did you miss me?"

Butterflies swarmed in my belly, and heat flushed my cheeks. "Maybe."

He pressed a chaste kiss to my cheek again and stepped away, opening the bag stuffed to the brim. "Well, I brought us some goodies." He glanced toward the computer. "How close are you to finishing?"

I clamped my hands together, the warmth of him fleeting, and smiled. "I'm finished."

His eyes brightened, and a grin crossed his face. "Yeah?" His hands paused on the zipper.

A shaky breath hitched in my throat as I nodded, the weight of this finalizing moment pressing against my chest. Never before had I felt this raw, this exposed, with my work.

My fingers twitched, the phantom sensation of typing still lingering. This story wasn’t just words on a screen—it was a loaded gun, and if it misfired, the consequences would be catastrophic.

Oh my God.

What if I made a mistake?

"Do you want to read it?"

He sidestepped me and sat in the chair, his hand touching his side before sliding the laptop into his lap.

"Are you still hurting?" I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands tucked between my thighs.

"Just a few twinges now and then." A faint smirk played on his lips. "Nothing like when I had the infection."

My lips formed into a firm line, and he deflected back to the screen, scanning each line with an unreadable expression. His face remained impassive, his posture rigid, giving nothing away.

His jaw clenched.

A finger twitched.

What is he thinking?

Does he like it?

Do I need to start over?

Muscles in his forearm flexed with each movement, tension carving lines into his skin, making something deep inside me tighten. His brow arched. Every measured movement pulled me in with an unshakable force.

He chose me...

Not because he had to...

But because he wanted to...

For me...

Each day, the ice inside me cracked, thawing under the heat of his presence. The anger that had once gripped my chest loosened its hold, leaving something far more dangerous in its place—what I had felt for him before the truth shattered us.

What if tomorrow ended it all?

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