3. Like how not to think about you, for example.

“Not think about me?” he said, letting out a low laugh. “Sounds like that’s going to take a lot of effort.”

I gave him a fake smile and turned toward the door, ready to go inside and put an end to this conversation. But just as I was about to slip the key into the lock, his hand brushed along my arm, stopping me. It wasn’t forceful, it wasn’t possessive. Just a soft touch, one that sent a shiver from my fingertips all the way up the back of my neck.

The man knew exactly what he was doing. And the worst part was, my body responded before my brain could stop it. As if his touch switched off all my defenses, one by one.

“Catherine,” he whispered, and it felt almost like a caress. “Why are you so afraid?”

I froze.

I hate when men try to be deep. This isn’t a movie, I thought. This isn’t a romance novel. This is real life, and in real life, guys like him don’t end up with girls like me.

But his words disarmed me in a way I hadn’t expected...

There was something in his voice, that low tone that brushed the edge of forbidden, that made me want to stay right there, pressed against his chest, just to see what would happen if I stopped running. Just to feel that warmth again, that damned warmth that left me trembling.

“Afraid?” I laughed, but it came out forced. “Please. What would I be afraid of? That a guy like you will break my heart? Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m serious,” he said quietly, his hand still resting lightly on my arm. “I’m not the villain in this story, Catherine. I’m not asking you to love me. I just want… for you not to run from this.”

“This?” I looked at him, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. He was too close again, with that gaze that made me feel exposed. And I didn’t want to feel exposed.

“Whatever this is between us. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it. I’m not that much of a fool.” His eyes told me he meant it.

I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.

And I couldn’t help but look at his lips. How easy it would be… just one more step and I’d be kissing him. And maybe, if I did, everything would stop hurting for a little while. Even if it was just for one night. Even if I regretted it in the morning.

“John, this isn’t…” I paused, my mind blank, but I had to say something. “I’m not your type. This isn’t going to work. You’re… you. And I’m…”

“Exactly what I want,” he said, steady, his eyes saying the same.

I had no words. No one had ever said something like that to me. Not and meant it. Sure, I’d heard compliments, sweet lines, but always from people who wanted something in return.

With John it was different. It was like he knew I was trying to run, and instead of holding me back physically, he kept me there with his words.

And with that body, with that voice… how could I not want to give in? Damn him.

“I’m not asking you to believe me right now. I just want… another chance to show you this is worth it. What do you say?” His eyes were on mine like he truly cared what my answer would be, and that’s what threw me off.

There I was—Catherine. The woman who didn’t believe in love. Who didn’t want complications. And there he was—a billionaire who could have anyone, and for some reason, wanted me.

“I don’t know…” I said, my voice unsteady. It wasn’t a no. It wasn’t a yes. It was my way of leaving myself a way out, just in case this all fell apart.

John smiled, like he knew that I don’t know was already a small victory.

“Take your time. I’ll be here, waiting.” He stepped back, let go of my arm, and suddenly I felt the empty space he left behind. “But don’t take too long, Catherine. Even I have my limits.”

That warning—soft, dangerous—lit something in me I didn’t know how to put out. Like his words had sparked a fuse I hadn’t even known I was carrying.

He smiled again, that slow, maddening smile that made me want to melt and scream at him all at once. And then he turned and walked away. I watched him head for his car, and for a second, I thought about calling him back, telling him not to go—but I stayed still.

I went inside, closed the door behind me, and leaned against it.

What had just happened?

Had I just taken a step toward… something?

Or had I just signed myself up for emotional chaos, forever?

Whatever it was, one thing was certain: John Blackwell was getting under my skin, and I didn’t know if that was the worst thing—or the best thing—that had happened to me in a long time.