Page 29 of Chain Me

She meets my gaze, shadows under her eyes more prominent now that I'm looking for them. “Often. My brain doesn't know how to shut off. There's always another problem to solve, another line of code to optimize.”

“And now?”

“Now?” A bitter laugh escapes her. “It's its own fresh hell being stuck here. At least before, I could channel all that mental energy into work. Create something useful.” She pushes her plate away. “But here? My mind just spins and spins with nowhere to go.”

The guilt hits harder than expected. I've been so focused on containing her physical presence that I hadn't considered the psychological toll of denying her access to her work. For someone like her—brilliant, driven—it must be torture.

“You really love it, don't you? The work?”

“It's not just work to me.” Her voice softens, passion bleeding through frustration. “It's who I am. And now...” She gestures helplessly at the kitchen around us. “Now I'm just stuck here, knowing my projects are stagnating, my clients probably panicking...”

I run a hand through my hair, wrestling with the conflict inside me. Her words about being cut off from her work echo in my mind. “I could talk to Alexi. See if he can help keep your projects running, maybe check on your clients.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Alexi? Your brother?”

“He's the best hacker I know.” I lean forward, warming to the idea. “He could at least make sure nothing's falling apart.”

A short laugh escapes her. “Right. And I suppose you expect me to just hand over all my access codes and login credentials to an Ivanov?”

What was I thinking?

“Your security protocols are probably half designed to keep people like Alexi out,” I admit.

“Try all designed.” She crosses her arms. “Do you have any idea how many attempts I've blocked from your brother's IP addresses over the years?”

That pulls me up short. “He's tried to hack you?”

“Multiple times.” Her lips quirk. “Never succeeded, though.”

Pride colors her voice, and I find myself fighting back a smile. Of course she's managed to keep Alexi out. I've seen firsthand how brilliant she is.

“Look,” she continues, “I appreciate the thought. But giving Alexi access to my systems would be like...” She pauses, searching for words. “Like me asking to borrow your weapons. Would you trust me with those?”

“Point taken.” I drum my fingers on the table, frustrated at my inability to help. “I just hate seeing you cut off from something you clearly love.”

Her hand covers mine, warm and soft, squeezing gently. “Thank you for caring.”

The touch sends electricity through my veins, but her words hit like ice water. Caring? No. I don't care. Can't care. Caring means vulnerability. Means weakness. Everything I've trained to eliminate.

My walls slam up, muscles tense. She notices—of course she does—and pulls her hand back, the warmth vanishing.

“Are you finished?” She reaches for my plate. All business now.

But something in me rebels against letting this moment end. Before she can stand, I catch her wrist, tugging her onto my lap. She gasps, those green eyes widening as I cup her face.

This isn't protocol. It isn't procedure. Every trained instinct screams to maintain distance. When I press my lips to hers, it's gentle. It's not our usual clash of teeth and dominance. Just soft and exploring.

She melts against me, fingers curling into my shirt. The kiss deepens but stays slow. Sweet. Nothing like the raw need that usually drives us.

I'm breaking every rule. Crossing every line. With her warm weight in my lap and her lips moving against mine, I can't bring myself to care.

I pull back from her lips, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen mouth. Her fingers stay twisted in my shirt, anchoring us together.

“What was that for?” Her voice comes out husky; her eyes search mine.

“Thank you for dinner.” The words feel inadequate for the storm of emotions churning inside me.

She shakes her head, but a smile plays at the corners of her mouth. Her palms press against my chest as she moves to stand.

---