Love Unspoken

In the very next heartbeat, a firm grip yanked her backward. The box she held was wrenched from her grasp and flung nonchalantly into a nearby, oversized recycling bin.

It clattered to a halt amidst a jumble of sundry items, office paraphernalia, folders, and files among them.

Quinn stood, stunned and uncertain, before him. She used her hands to sign, her gestures asking, "What should I do now?"

Alexander observed her for a moment, his face devoid of expression. His response, when it came, was delivered with icy detachment, "Nothing. You don't have to do anything."

She regarded him, her confusion evident. A small tug at the corner of her mouth betrayed her bewilderment. He had demonstrated his contempt for her so openly, yet now he wanted her constant presence? Hesitantly, she signed, "Aren't you..."

He arched an eyebrow, silently urging her to complete her thought.

After a moment's pause, she continued her signing, "Don't you dislike me?"

Alexander countered with a question of his own, "What does one have to do with the other?"

Quinn was taken aback, his words a stark reminder of his disdain for her. Yet, there had been no conflict in her shadowing him, despite his affection for Getty, whom he had not married.

however, were tantamount to a confession of his true feelings-his dislike

eyes to meet his

in, his hand resting on the bookshelf next to her ear, "Sorry again?

"For making you

narrowed, and he abruptly gripped her chin, pinning her against the bookshelf. "Are your apologies

her lip, asking him,

path across her cheek. He leaned in close, as if to kiss her but stopped just short of her lips,

and her heart tightened. This closeness was imbued with an ambiguous intimacy, yet it was underscored

bad leg rushed to save you. How did you

tranquil irony

shook her head and

her explanation. He seemed more interested in making his point than in hearing her

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"Never?" he pressed.