Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Clara went quiet this time, her gaze fixed on the table. She sat there for what felt like ages before finally asking, "How's Aiden?"

She already knew the answer-she'd just called the hospital herself. She was only asking to change the subject.

Dylan was turning his fork and knife in his hands before he finally set them down, his whole posture heavy, as if he was carrying something he couldn't say out loud.

Then it hit her: he'd just asked her something, hadn't he? And she hadn't answered.

With Dylan, not answering was as good as saying no. He never seemed to expect good things, especially when it came to feelings.

Clara took a breath. "Dylan."

He didn't say anything, just kept his eyes lowered, looking lost.

She tried again, "Are you full?"

"Yeah."

At least he answered that.

Clara reached out, running her hand over his shirt-half the buttons were already undone. "If you're done eating, let's keep going. Just skip work today."

surprised she was taking the lead. He hesitated for

didn't bother checking his expression-she already knew it wouldn't be great so she just cupped his face and

Z in one way: if things were good

completely spent. She slumped against the sofa, practically asleep, while Dylan-shirt barely buttoned, just his dress pants on-was carefully

tried to lift her arm to stop him, but she didn't even have

bathroom for a shower, making sure her wound stayed

her to bed, she finally caved. "I really can't

kiss against her lips. "I'm not a monster,

planned to

let out a long breath, eyes half-shut, watching him move around the room. Someone knocked at the

and came back

as he calmly started hanging his clothes

wasn't going to Palm Bay. Looked like he

chest tightened, a strange

back to her, Dylan kept organizing his stuff—and even straightened up her

arms around his waist from behind, her words barely

are just like him,