Cleopatra’s heart skipped. She knew that look. The way his lashes lowered slightly. The way his breath grew slower as if he was holding himself in check. But she shook her head suddenly and shifted back, a soft but firm dodge before his lips could touch hers. “Don’t,” she said gently. Calvin paused. His brows knitted slightly, not in irritation but in concern. “I took my medication earlier,” she explained, fingers lightly touching the edge of her sleeve. “I don’t want you catching anything from me.” Silence settled, thick with unspoken warmth. Then Calvin exhaled slowly, almost helplessly amused by her stubborn kindness. His hand slid from her neck to her cheek instead, thumb tracing a slow, tender arc across her skin. “You worry too much about me,” he said. “It’s because I care,” she replied softly. His forehead rested lightly against hers not kissing, just sharing breath, closeness, the quiet pulse of affection. “If caring means I cannot kiss you now,” he whispered, voi
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