Page 73 of His Surrender

I notice her breathing change. Just enough from the subtle rise and fall of her chest.

Mine follows a heartbeat later, yet neither of us speaks.

She looks up at me. Really looks at me. Her eyes search mine, as though she’s trying to understand how the man who’s barely spoken to her all week is suddenly standing inches away, refusing to let her leave.

I can feel the warmth radiating from her. The faint scent of her perfume swirls between us.

My pulse pounds so loudly that I’m certain she can hear it.

She swallows. The movement draws my attention to her lips. For one impossible second, the rest of the apartment disappears.

The distance between us doesn’t seem like inches anymore. It feels microscopic.

If either one of us leaned forward … just a fraction … just enough …

Her eyes flick to my mouth, then back to my eyes. Everything inside me stills. All of it collapses into one overwhelming need to close the space between us.

I start to lean in. So slowly that I’m not even aware I’m moving.

She doesn’t step back or tell me to stop. She simply stands there, frozen, her lips parting with a quiet, unsteady breath.

My heart hammers against my ribs. I can already imagine what it would feel like to finally⁠—

A cry pierces the silence.

Liana.

The sound shatters the moment. Aubrey jerks backward, as if waking from a dream.

I close my eyes for the briefest second, every muscle in my body going rigid.

Without another word, she slips around me and hurries toward her bedroom.

I take a shaky breath before taking long strides toward the nursery.

Wondering how close I just came to making the biggest mistake of my life.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

AUBREY

Ihid in my room the rest of the weekend until Monday morning.

Not because I couldn’t leave, but because I didn’t know what was waiting for me on the other side of the door.

The Dean who had barely looked at me for an entire week?

Or the Dean who had stood in the kitchen at eleven o’clock at night, demanding I text him when I went on a date?

At this point, I honestly have no idea which one is real.

I curl my legs beneath me on top of my comforter, coffee mug warming my hands as I stare out the bedroom window.

New York is already awake.

People are rushing to work. Taxi horns echo somewhere below. The city keeps moving while my brain seems determined to replay the same forty-eight hours on an endless loop.

I let out a slow breath.