25-
We finish the last of our meetings without catching fire—barely.
Every time Caden brushes against me, it’s like my whole body hiccups. And when he doesn’t? Somehow worse. My skin aches for his, like a song left unfinished.
I grip the corner of the table during a report and jolt upright—he’s gripping the window frame across the room at the same moment. But we both feel both. Hot wood under my hand. Cold glass under his.
“This is messed up,” I mutter under my breath.
‘You’re telling me. I just touched a pen and you moaned.’
I whip my head toward him, scandalized. “I did not—”
‘You absolutely did, love. Keep your thoughts PG or I swear I’ll touch the bloody floor just to hear you gasp.’
I bite my lip, trying not to laugh, cheeks flushing.
Eventually, somehow, we make it through w
