“Wear it downstairs.”
Khloe stared.
“That will help?”
“No.”
He laughed.
“It will make the story worse.”
Against all logic, she laughed too.
Vincent smiled.
There she was.
Not the timid bookkeeper.
Someone sharper.
Funniest when exhausted.
More alive when not afraid.
He liked her.
That realization should have felt new.
It didn’t.
That was the problem.
He had liked her for months.
Perhaps longer.
He simply called it respect because respect felt manageable.
Desire complicated payroll.
Affection complicated authority.
Protectiveness complicated everything.
Khloe stopped laughing.
Their eyes met.
The air changed again.
She felt it too.
Vincent looked away first.
“Get some sleep.”
“You won’t.”
“I’ll survive.”
She touched the blanket.
“This is yours.”
“I have others.”
“The bed.”
Vincent looked at her.
Khloe’s cheeks colored.
“I mean…”
“I know what you mean.”
Silence.
She whispered:
“You can stay.”
Vincent’s pulse changed.
“In the chair?”
Khloe looked directly at him.
For once, no fear.
“Not necessarily.”
That was dangerous.
He took one step toward the bed.
Then stopped.
“You’re exhausted.”
“I know.”
“You’ve had a frightening night.”
“Yes.”
“I’m your employer.”
Her expression tightened slightly.
“That matters.”
“Yes.”
“More than what I want?”
The question hit him harder than expected.
“No.”
He answered honestly.
“It means I need to be careful knowing whether what you want is free.”
Khloe stared.
Vincent continued.
“If you ask me to stay because you’re afraid saying no could cost you work, then I’ve failed before I touch you.”
Her face softened.
“You think I’m afraid of you.”
“You are.”
“Sometimes.”
“Exactly.”
Khloe considered.
Then she slipped out from beneath the blanket.
Stood.
Walked toward him.
The thick nightgown moved softly around her body.
She stopped close.
Not touching.
“What if I tell you I’ve been afraid of you for two years…”
Vincent waited.
“…and wanting you for almost one?”
His breath stopped.
Khloe looked equally shocked that she had said it.
Vincent’s voice lowered.
“That is not something you say casually.”
“I know.”
“Khloe.”
“I know.”
He looked at her mouth.
Then forced himself back to her eyes.
“What do you want right now?”
Her cheeks deepened pink.
“I want you not to sleep in that chair.”
He almost smiled.
“Specific.”
“You asked.”
“Yes.”
She reached toward him.
Stopped before touching.
Vincent noticed.
The reversal amused him.
He took her hand.
Placed it against his chest.
Khloe inhaled.
His shirt remained damp at the collar.
Heartbeat strong beneath her palm.
“You’re nervous.”
She sounded surprised.
Vincent laughed quietly.
“I’m standing in my bedroom at four in the morning with the woman who just discovered someone stole thirty-eight thousand dollars from me.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“No.”
His voice lowered.
“It isn’t.”
Khloe’s fingers curled slightly into his shirt.
Vincent lifted one hand.
Paused near her cheek.
She nodded.
He touched her.
Softly.
His thumb brushed the curve below her eye.
Khloe closed her eyes briefly.
When she opened them, she whispered: