Chapter 10 Knight Moves #3
He rests his tongue in the corner of his mouth as his gaze lowers to my throat. “I think you can handle a whole lot more.”
A sudden chill prickles my skin. Something’s off…very off. Revealing some of my cracks was supposed to get me closer to him—not expose me to a sadist. I may have pushed him too hard, too fast. I need him unraveled, even a little feral, not imploding.
Casually, I rub my thumb over the constellation along my wrist, willing my pulse to calm. “Besides being inappropriate, you need to understand that for most people, it takes time to feel a certain level of intimacy.”
His smile is knowing, and his deep chuckle drops low in my belly.
“Time’s merely a construct to measure the passing of life.
” He shrugs against the sofa. “It’s delivered to us in little drips, in a stream of lyrics and chords, a song we experience linearly, creating memory.
” A serious note laces his voice. “I experience our song every time I look at you, Collins. All at once.” His eyes blaze. “In a rush.”
The molecules of the air crackle with heat. The bruised organ inside my chest flutters. I feel swept into his animated current, dragged by the undertow of his unstable thoughts.
To mask the flicker of unease in my expression, I glance at the file in my hand—two MRI series reports. One dated before the motorcycle accident. The other from a clearance check Banner ordered two years ago.
The report with the structural images states no obvious trauma.
No bleeding, no lesions—nothing to explain the changes Orion started exhibiting after the wreck.
All cleared and signed off. And yet, there’s a subtle shift in functional connectivity, some elevated reactivity in the regions tied to fear and compulsion.
Whatever emerged post-accident rewired something deeper, something psychological. Whether the crash was the catalyst is irrelevant.
He believes it was.
And that can be exploited.
“We’ve strayed off topic,” I say, lifting my eyes to him. “You said your observatory is where obsessive thoughts don’t invade. It’s your routine that I need to monitor. Observing you there is the only way I can give you a proper assessment—”
He stands abruptly.
Removing his glasses from his shirt pocket, he slips them into place and stalks toward the side table. He rests a finger on one of the black chess pieces, tips it forward. “Did you know the knight is the sneakiest piece on the board,” he says randomly.
I frown. “I suppose that’s a matter of opinion.”
He grins down at the board. “One of my favorite plays is the smothered mate. It’s when the king is completely surrounded by his own pieces, nowhere to run. And the knight”—he hooks a finger under the knight and lifts it, moving it in an L-shape—“leaps right over.”
He looks up at me. “Checkmate.”
I close the file and drop it to the desk. “Are you saying you feel smothered by your colleagues?”
“Interesting you think I’m the king in this scenario.” He starts toward me, slowly crossing the distance.
I consider how to maneuver around him. “You still question whether you can trust me.”
He stops a few feet away. “I question everything, all the time.” His eyes connect with mine past the rims of his glasses. “Like why observing me in my observatory seems to be so important.”
“Why wouldn’t it be? It’s where your time is focused. Typically, getting an academic to show off their work isn’t hard,” I say, emboldening my tone. “Some would say your secretive nature surrounding your research is somewhat paranoid.”
“I would say it’s completely paranoid.”
I expel a tense breath. “Why do you think you were able to rescue me from the tide, Orion?” I pivot, taking control.
A dark brow lifts behind his glasses. “You’re the expert. I’d rather hear your thoughts on why I was able to rescue you, to get close to you.” He demonstrates this by drawing even closer.
“Danger,” I say simply. “You braved the tide without thought for your own safety. You rushed in impulsively, fueled by the desire to achieve an adrenaline rush. You’ve admitted you do this every chance you get. Stimulation addiction presents as extremely risky, thrill-seeking behavior.”
A crooked smile tips his mouth. “Damn, I thought I was being heroic. You might as well label me a madman.”
“That’s not the term I would use.”
“What would you use?”
“With the way you’re behaving right now—” I flatten my backside against the desk’s edge to escape his nearness. “I’d say your behavior is…erratic.”
He cants his head until nearly all the space between us disappears. Close enough to hear the catch of my breath, where I can taste the scent of ocean and mist clinging to his clothes. It sends a heady buzz through my bloodstream.
His eyes absorb me, trailing down to the violent pulse in my neck. “I’m not the only erratic thing in this room, Dr. Holbrook.”
I swallow reflexively, rocked beneath the hunger burning in his eyes. His hair falls across his forehead, and I resist the urge to sweep it aside. An alarm sounds, warning me to tread carefully.
He extends his hand alongside my hip, and I stop breathing, my body frozen as he reaches around and taps the keyboard of my laptop to close out the recording application.
My eyes fall closed, and a breathy curse slips past my lips. I hold back a wince as a pinch of pain tightens beneath my rib cage.
“I trust you have an ethical reason for recording me,” he says, his voice a dark rasp, summoning my gaze back to his. “Since your ethics are so incorruptible.”
I will my backbone to lock. “I like to keep detailed documentation. Especially since I’m unable to observe you properly.”
His grin is sinful as he places his knuckles on the surface of the desk, caging his body around mine. His attention drifts downward, eyes tracing a purposeful path over my throat. The bruises hidden beneath my hair flare with a throb under his sharp gaze.
Orion’s mouth stretches into that beautiful, knowing smile.
“You don’t need to observe my boring routine, Collins.
Do you see where I am right now? I’m not in my observatory.
I’m not obsessively tracking star patterns.
I’m not chasing an adrenaline rush on my bike.
I’m here, with you.” His voice is an abrasive brush of friction against my skin.
“Being near you is all the danger I need, angel.”
My breathing shallows, my gaze drawn to the parted collar of his shirt, where a hint of black ink teases through. Transfixed, I daringly lift my hand.
“Careful,” he warns. “Unless you enjoy being smothered, be sure that’s the move you want to make.”
My throat constricts at the threat, and my hand falls away. “This isn’t healthy,” I manage to say.
He nods slowly. “Oh, I know. It’s a sickness. I fucking dream of what your skin tastes like.”
Torrid flames lick over my skin in response, my body torn between fear and desire, the damaged parts of me blurring the line between survival instinct and shameless need.
I shiver under the fiery brand of his gaze. I’ve dared myself to imagine what it would feel like to press my lips to his, to have his body heavy over mine. While a dormant part of me is curious, may even secretly crave it—his aversion to touch was supposed to offer a barrier of protection.
Me pushing him—not the other way around.
“What I mean is,” I say, “it’s unhealthy to swap one obsession for another. That’s called transference.”
He makes a gruff sound. “It’s also unhealthy to be so damn tempting to a madman, but here we both are.”
Against my will, a wicked smile steals across my face. “Here we both are.”
With an unhurried sweep of his tongue, Orion wets his lips, sending a frisson arcing down my spine. The dare hovers like a live wire, crackling in the charged space between us.
Involuntarily, my thighs squeeze together to offset the empty ache. Like a provoked predator, Orion senses my movement, his eyes darkening.
“Fuck.” The curse drops from his mouth on a harsh breath.
“So what happens now, doctor. Does this exposure therapy mean you’ll let me do things like call you baby.
Tell you all the filthy ways I’ve obsessed about you.
How every single time I saw you sitting on that bench, all I could fucking think about was bending you over it and spreading you wide, burying my fingers inside you. ”
A shock of fear spikes my pulse. My breath catches painfully beneath my ribs as the threat of his words constricts my chest. No matter what happens now, escape isn’t an option.
My mouth opens to respond, but the words snag behind the tight knot in my throat.
“Mmm-hmm.” Orion tilts his head as he studies me, keeping his body a taut line of control. His gaze narrows, a dangerous smirk twisting his lips, like he’s won some match between us.
And my stomach dips as I realize I’ve made a wrong move.
He pulls back a measure. “Your fear has a taste, starling. It’s mouthwatering.
But as much as I’m tempted to spend the day torturing myself with it—” A devilish smile slants his mouth as he reaches into his pocket and produces a folded slip of paper.
“You have something I need, and I told you I’d collect. ”
For one dreaded, off-kilter heartbeat, I envision the piece of evidence in my pocket—until he says, “Your signature.”
Masking my relief, I draw myself up through my spine and accept the document. I only have to scan the top line to recognize it as a copy of the mandatory admittance Banner gave me.
“Orion, I never signed this.”
“Your resignation is attached,” he says, dismissing my objection. “Effective immediately, Dr. Holbrook.”
Trapped between his body and the desk, I suddenly question just who the sneakiest piece on the board is.
Meeting his eyes, I hold up the document between us and tear it down the center, letting the halves float to the floor. “There. That’s my move,” I say pointedly. “Too bad you already gave yours away.”
He licks his lips, cold amusement flickering behind his glasses. “Did I now.”