Page 33 of Capricorn

“You sound surprised.”

“Not at all. You’re a designer, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but…” I glance down at the long knit piece that matches my brown eyes. “I didn’t design this.”

“Regardless, it hugs you in all the right places.” He nods at my fitted bodice and the hint of cleavage there. “You obviously have an eye for style. You should wear your own work.”

“I’ve worn some of my designs at formal events.”

“What about branching out?” He sets the mug down, his gaze steady as he weighs more than just the question. “Have you considered a lingerie line?”

“I haven’t.”

“You should. Something provocative and bold. I can get you buyers.”

The last of my eggs sit forgotten, cooling on the plate. My mind isn’t on food or clothing or new customers. It’s on what happened in my suite last night. Oliver, meanwhile, carries on like nothing happened, idly chatting as if he has nothing to hide—as if he didn’t stand in the shadows and watch me unravel beneath my own hand.

I chew the inside of my cheek, debating whether to confront him, but he’s already speaking again.

“Aren’t you interested in expanding your brand?” His smirk holds too much heat to be harmless. “I can help with inspiration, if you need it.”

“I’m more interested in why you were standing in my doorway last night.” If my accusation unsettles him, he doesn’t show it.

“Was I?”

“You know you were.” I give him a pointed look. “Unless there’s a ghost in this tower who looks exactly like you.”

“You should ask yourself why you didn’t look away sooner.”

Glaring at him, I cross my arms. “I did look away.”

“Not soon enough.”

“Excuse me?” His words hit a nerve, sending a jolt down my spine.

“You heard me.”

“All I heard was absolute nonsense.”

He shakes his head. “You’re a natural submissive, Novalee. It’s written in your body language. Even your resistance is a performance, because what you really crave is surrender.”

“You don’t know what I crave.”

“Are you sure about that? You’ve been broadcasting it since you stepped into this house.”

I grip the edge of the table, my nails biting into the wood. He’s channeling Dr. Price with that know-it-all tone.

“You should embrace it,” he adds, his gaze drilling into me.

There’s an unnamed agenda buried in his stare, settling low in my belly, uncomfortable but not entirely…unpleasant.

Suddenly, that locked door flashes through my mind.

“Embrace what, exactly?”

Without answering, he smooths his expression into polished stone, his mouth hardening into a stubborn line.

He’s said too much.

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