The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in darkness.

It was a maintenance alcove, barely six feet square. The air was thick with the smell of dust and industrial cleaner. The only light came from the faint green glow of an exit sign, casting long, distorted shadows across the walls.

Jordyn's back pressed against the cold, rough concrete. There was nowhere else to go. The space was so narrow that Hoyt had to stand inches from her. He filled the tiny room, his broad shoulders blocking out the faint light, his presence an overwhelming physical force.

She could hear everything. The ragged, uneven rhythm of her own breathing. The blood roaring in her ears. And beneath it all, the slow, steady thump of his heart.

It was too close. Way too close. She could feel the heat radiating from his body through the fine wool of his suit. It brushed against her chilled skin, a stark contrast to the cold wall at her back.

Jordyn held her breath. The scent of him was everywhere-that clean, sharp cedarwood, now mixed with a hint of something darker, something warm and distinctly male. It filled her lungs, crowding out the stale air of the closet.

She shifted uncomfortably, trying to press herself further into the wall, to create even a millimeter of space between them. But the wall was unyielding, and so was he.

That's it, Hoyt thought, his eyes adjusting to the gloom until he could make out the delicate line of her jaw, the rapid flutter of the pulse in her throat. Breathe me in. Let me fill your senses until there's no room for anything else.

He watched her throat work as she swallowed hard. He felt an answering pull low in his gut, a primal urge to lean in and taste the skin right there.

Patience, he reminded himself, his hands curling into fists inside his pockets. You don't trap a wild bird by grabbing it. You let it get comfortable in the cage.

"Are they... are they going to see us?" Jordyn whispered. The silence was too heavy; she had to fill it with something.

Hoyt didn't answer right away. He let his gaze travel over her face, lingering on her lips, the tip of her nose, the furrow between her brows. He took his time, making sure she felt the weight of his attention.

Then he leaned in. It was a slow, deliberate movement. He brought his head down until his lips were a fraction of an inch from her ear.

"I'm not sure," he murmured. His breath was warm against her skin, stirring the loose hairs at her temple. "Gus is thorough. He'll check every corner."

His voice was a low vibration in the dark. It resonated in the small space, vibrating against her eardrum and sending a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with fear.

Jordyn's ears burned. A flush crept up her neck, heating her skin. This was wrong. This was Carleigh's uncle. This was a man twice her age. But her body was betraying her, reacting to the proximity, the heat, the scent of him in ways she couldn't control.

Look at you, Hoyt thought, feeling the sudden wave of heat radiating from her. He couldn't see the color in the dark, but he could feel it, a tangible rise in temperature against the cool air. Your skin is flushing. Your breathing is changing. You're far more sensitive than you realize, little bird.

He straightened up, pulling back just a few inches. It was a small retreat, a gesture of restraint. But to Jordyn, it felt like a sudden, cold void.

She immediately felt ashamed. What was wrong with her? He was just trying to keep his voice down. He was being practical. She was the one reading into it, the one having inappropriate thoughts about a man who had just saved her.

"I think they're still looking," Hoyt said, his voice returning to a normal volume, though still quiet. He raised a hand and pointed toward the crack of light under the door. "See that shadow? It's moving."

Jordyn looked. He was right. A dark shape passed by the gap, pausing for a moment before moving on.

Her heart leaped into her throat again. The fear came rushing back, instantly washing away the strange, confusing heat from a moment ago. She looked at Hoyt with renewed terror.

He nodded slowly, his expression grave. "We have to stay quiet."

As he lowered his hand, his fingers grazed the bare skin of her forearm. It was a whisper of contact, light as a feather.

Jordyn jerked her arm back, a reflexive flinch. But then she stopped. She didn't pull away entirely. She let her arm hang there, just millimeters from his hand.

She didn't realize it, but in that tiny, dark space, she was already getting used to him. Used to his heat. Used to his touch. Used to the cage he was building around her.

Time stretched. The silence in the small space grew heavy, thick with unspoken words and the lingering electricity from his touch.

Jordyn couldn't look at him. Looking at him made her feel too much, too fast. So she stared straight ahead, at the top button of his shirt. She focused on it, trying to anchor her racing mind.

But her mind wouldn't stay anchored. It drifted, imagining what those long, elegant fingers might feel like if they weren't attached to a Wall Street tycoon. If they were attached to an artist, maybe. Someone who would use them to paint, to sculpt, to touch her with the same intensity he used to close a deal.

She bit her lower lip, hard, trying to snap herself out of it. The sharp pain brought her back to reality, but it also brought a rush of color to her cheeks.

Hoyt saw it all. The way her pupils dilated as she stared at his chest. The way her teeth sank into the plump flesh of her lip. He knew exactly what it meant.

What are you thinking about? he wondered, a dark thrill coursing through him. You look like you're thinking about sin. Are you thinking about me?

A faint smile touched the corners of his mouth before he quickly suppressed it, replacing it with a look of stern concern.

"We have a problem," he said, his voice low and serious.

Jordyn's head snapped up, her daydream shattered. "What? What is it?"

"I think they're getting suspicious," Hoyt said, looking past her shoulder toward the door. "Gus is looking this way."

Jordyn's stomach dropped. She twisted her head to look, but the angle was bad. All she could see was the same sliver of light under the door.

Gus isn't looking this way.

He turned his head back to her, catching her gaze and holding it. His gray eyes were dark, unreadable. "Hiding like this... it makes us look guilty. If they come over here, we're caught."

Jordyn felt a fresh wave of panic. "So what do we do?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Hoyt held her gaze for a long moment, pretending to wrestle with a difficult decision. Then he let out a soft sigh, his expression shifting to one of reluctant resolve.

"Jordyn," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "We need to make this look... convincing."

"Convincing?" she repeated, confused.

His gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth. He watched, mesmerized, as her tongue darted out to wet her lips in nervousness.

"Think about it," he said, his voice taking on a hypnotic quality. "If we were just hiding, we'd look suspicious. But if we were a couple... seeking a moment of privacy... nobody would question it."

Jordyn's brain short-circuited. The words "a couple" hung in the air between them, heavy and loaded. She understood what he was implying instantly. The heat rushed back to her face, ten times worse than before.

"No," she stammered, shaking her head. "I can't... Mr. David, we shouldn't..."

He lifted a hand. His index finger pressed gently against her lips, silencing her. The touch was electric. She could feel the slight roughness of his skin, the warmth of his fingertip.

"Shh," he murmured, his eyes locked on hers. They were deep, sincere, and utterly disarming. "It's just an act. It's the only way to get you out of here safely. Trust me."

Trust me. The words wrapped around her, a spell she couldn't break. He was so calm, so reasonable. He was offering her a lifeline, and she was too desperate, too grateful, to refuse.

If she said no, she was admitting she didn't trust him. She was admitting she thought he had ulterior motives. And after everything he had done for her, that felt like a betrayal.

She stood there, trapped between her shame and her survival instinct. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Then, slowly, stiffly, she nodded.

The moment she nodded, Hoyt felt a surge of triumph so intense it was almost physical. But his face remained a mask of grim duty. He couldn't let her see the predator. Not yet.

Jordyn closed her eyes. She couldn't watch. She tilted her chin up slightly, her lips parted, her body rigid with tension. She was offering herself up, waiting for the blow.

She waited for the press of his lips. The invasion. The kiss that would seal this strange bargain.

It didn't come.

Instead, she felt a feather-light touch on her mouth. Hoyt's thumb brushed across her lower lip, slowly, deliberately. The pad of his finger was warm, slightly calloused, and the sensation it sparked was nothing like she had imagined.

It wasn't an invasion. It was a caress. A slow, melting heat that spread from her lips down to her toes.

Jordyn's eyes flew open.

He was looking at her. His gray eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide, but his expression was one of absolute control. There was no lust on his face. Only a gentle, almost paternal restraint.

To kiss you now would be too easy, he thought, his thumb lingering on the soft curve of her lip. It would be taking. I want you to give. I want you to beg for it. This... this is enough to make you doubt everything.

"That's enough," he said, his voice a low, rough rasp. "From a distance, this looks intimate. It looks... convincing."

He pulled his hand back, breaking the contact. The air between them suddenly felt cold.

Jordyn stared at him, her mind blank. Then, a wave of shame and gratitude crashed over her, so powerful it made her dizzy.

She had thought he was going to kiss her. She had thought he was going to take advantage of the situation, of her. But he hadn't. He had stopped. He had been the perfect gentleman.

He was exactly what he appeared to be. A good man. A decent man.

Look at her, Hoyt thought, watching the emotions play across her face. She thinks I'm a saint. She has no idea I'm imagining what it would feel like to devour her whole.

His hand was still tingling from the contact. The softness of her lip was burned into his skin. He shoved his hand deep into his pocket, his fingers curling into a tight fist, his nails biting into his palm. The pain was a necessary distraction. It was the only thing keeping him from pulling her flush against him and taking what he wanted.

"Thank you," Jordyn whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for... for being so understanding."

"Call me Hoyt," he said.

It wasn't a request. It was a command, delivered with a gentle smile.

Jordyn blinked. "What?"

"'Mr. David' is too formal," he said, his tone light but firm. "After what we've just been through, I think we can drop that. I want to hear you say my name."

She hesitated. Calling him by his first name felt dangerous. It felt like crossing a line. But after what he had just done-after he had protected her and respected her-refusing seemed churlish.

"Okay," she said softly. "Hoyt."

The sound of his name on her lips sent a jolt of pure satisfaction through him. It was a small victory, but a crucial one. It was the first thread in the web.

He looked toward the door. "I think it worked. They're moving away."

Jordyn let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She believed him completely. She had no idea that she had just stepped deeper into the trap.