His Forbidden Love (Manhattan Billionaires #2) - Ava Ryan Page 0,39

you. It’s always you.”

I gape at him.

He shrugs.

The moment stretches into infinity.

“So.” He sips his drink. Clears his throat. “Now you know.”

The confession requires some response, but I can’t seem to generate one. I’m too overwhelmed. Way too aroused.

“I don’t know what to say,” I finally tell him. “I don’t know what to do here.”

There’s another pause, longer this time. “You could always threaten to sue me for sexual harassment,” he says with a crooked smile.

As if. “I don’t plan to do that.”

“Good to know. Say something.”

If only I could. But all the turbulent feelings inside me make that impossible.

Shock. Disbelief. Relief mixed with triumph because I’m not crazy after all.

Maybe even creeping euphoria.

But…

How is this possible?

I can’t believe that a man like this would ever think about me like that. I can’t reconcile this sudden, unexpected intensity with the cool-eyed Dr. Jamison I’ve known this whole time. Nor can I sync it up with me and my extra twenty pounds and the things I know to be true about myself.

I’m not this special. Never have been, never could be.

I open my mouth, determined to talk some sense into him, to keep my head on straight and not get caught up in a fever dream where the two of us could somehow be together.

“You’ve acted like you didn’t want me,” I say. “This whole time.”

“I know.”

“Now I can’t believe that you do,” I say, unable to keep the wounded note out of my voice.

A wave of comprehension washes over his expression. “Ally. Look at me.”

I don’t know what’s more damaging to my equilibrium: the tenderness and intimacy in his voice as he uses my first name for what I’m positive is only the second time ever, or the focused intensity with which he stares at me across the table.

He doesn’t say anything and doesn’t need to. It’s all right there.

I think about all the times I wondered what was going on behind those cool eyes and wished I could find out. What secrets he might be keeping. This moment out of time is the perfect antidote to wipe all that away. The perfect reversal of everything that’s happened before, the same way a dose of naloxone reverses a heroin overdose and wipes it clean.

I see it all in those few arrested seconds.

Desire. Need. Aching vulnerability that exactly matches what I’m feeling inside.

Even so, this is all too much to process over drinks at a bar. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here. Am I supposed to scuttle my entire relationship with Bruce just because this man finally crooked his little finger at me?

“I have a life, Dr. Jamison,” I say, surging adrenaline making me shrill and fidgety. A booth this size can’t contain the amount of energy coursing through my body. “Am I just supposed to drop to my knees in gratitude?”

“We should probably switch to first names at this point, Ally.” The dry tone doesn’t help.

“I had plans,” I say.

“I know,” he says quietly.

“They didn’t include you.”

He bows his head. “I’m sorry.”

He seems to mean it, but that’s not good enough. Those two words don’t get you off the hook when you’ve just lobbed a grenade into the middle of someone’s life.

“You should be. Why should I drop everything for you? You didn’t drop everything for me, did you? Matter of fact, you made me feel like I was crazy for thinking you were attracted to me. And now you snap your fingers and I’m supposed to come running?”

Everything closes off. It’s like the Great Wall of China opening between us.

“Not at all,” he says, but his calm demeanor doesn’t quite match up with his banked turbulence as he stands, pulls out his wallet and tosses some money on the table. “If you want me, you know where to find me. Otherwise? Go call your boyfriend. Forget I ever said anything.”

Forget?

I watch him, feeling strangely deflated as I repress the wild urge to ask if he’s insane.

“But…”

“Up to you,” he says with a final pointed glance at me. “Harlow.”

I don’t like this renewed use of my last name after the intimacy of the last several minutes. I don’t like it at all.

I put my elbows on the table again and drop my head into my hands as he strides off, trapped in the aftershocks of this erupting emotional volcano and somehow resisting the urge to hurry after him.

The rest of the world simultaneously returns in a rush, bringing the renewed sound of the crowd’s dull roar. My