Page 85 of Can't Stop Watching
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LILA
The elevator makes its way up to Dane's floor, each number lighting up with what feels like deliberate slowness. My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
God, what am I doing?
A week ago, I would've laughed if someone told me I'd be in an elevator, panties stuffed in my purse, heading to a man's apartment like I'm delivering myself for dinner. Yet here I am, following his instructions: 'Wear your hair down, and a dress and nothing underneath.' The words alone sent heat surging through me when I read them.
The dress I chose is dark green, simple but not too casual, hitting mid-thigh. It feels both liberating and terrifying to have nothing underneath, the fabric brushing against bare skin with every movement. The cool air in the elevator makes me hyper-aware of exactly how exposed I am.
This is insane. I'm a graduate student, for Christ's sake. I have a Veritas interview to prepare for. And instead, I'm basically gift-wrapping myself for a man.
The elevator dings, and my stomach drops like I'm falling from a height, except in the best way possible.
"Get it together, Marks," I mutter, stepping into the hallway.
As I approach Dane's door, my legs feel like they're made of water. Before I can even lift my hand to knock, the door swings open. Dane stands there, eyes dark and hungry, looking at me like I'm something he's been starving for.
In one fluid motion, he pulls me inside, kicks the door shut, and engulfs me in his arms. The force of it knocks the breath from my lungs as my body collides with his solid chest.
"You're here," he whispers against my hair, his voice rough with something that sounds almost like relief.
His arms tighten around me, and I find myself melting into him, breathing in his clean, masculine scent. There's something about the way he holds me—like I'm precious but also like he's afraid I might disappear—that makes my chest ache.
"Did you follow my instructions?" His hand slides down my back, hovering just above where my dress ends.
"Maybe you should check," I say, my voice coming out huskier than intended.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his gray eyes intense. "I plan to."
His hand moves lower, fingers tracing the hem before slipping underneath to find bare skin. The contact sends electricity up my spine.
"Good girl," he murmurs, and something about those two simple words makes my knees weak.
He backs me against the wall, his body pressing into mine, layers of fabric still between us yet the moment feels more intimate than being naked. His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my lower lip.
His eyes search mine, some internal battle playing out behind them. The intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch.Dane Wolfe seldom does vulnerable. He's all steel and control and calculated moves. At least, that's what I thought.
"I need to tell you something," he says, his voice uncharacteristically rough. He steps back, running a hand through his perfect hair, messing it up in a way that somehow makes him even more attractive. Unfair.
"What? Are you secretly married?" I joke, trying to lighten whatever's happening.
He doesn't smile. "You're in my head, Lila. All the time."
My heart stutters. "Okay..."
"I've never—" He stops, jaw clenching. "This isn't normal for me. I find myself thinking about you when I should be working. I check my phone for your messages like some fucking teenager."
I swallow hard. "Are you trying to tell me I'm distracting you from your brooding detective work?"
His hands come up to frame my face, and there's something almost desperate in the gesture. "I want to protect you. From everything. It's becoming... consuming."
Holy shit. Is Dane Wolfe—emotionless, dangerous Dane Wolfe—trying to tell me he has feelings for me?
"I'm not sure what to do with that," I say honestly.
"Neither am I." His thumb traces my cheekbone. "I've spent most of my life keeping people at a distance. It's safer that way."
