Chapter 41
Katherine
Kath woke slowly, consciousness returning in gentle waves. The sheets beneath her were too smooth, the pillow too firm.
For a moment, disorientation gripped her—then reality settled back into place.
Ben's apartment. His guest room. His bed.
She inhaled deeply, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through unfamiliar curtains.
His scent clung to everything—clean, sharp, with something dark and woodsy tucked into the sheets.
Not overpowering, but undeniably present.
Like he'd deliberately left his mark on every surface, every fabric, every corner.
His scent clung to her skin too. She hadn't showered last night, too exhausted from the break-in and the rush to pack essentials. Now his apartment's signature smell had transferred to her, as if claiming her as part of the space.
Kath pushed back the blanket and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The hardwood floor was cool against her bare feet as she padded into the hallway, the silence enveloping her like a physical presence.
No traffic sounds penetrated the walls. No music played.
No neighbors arguing, no sirens wailing, no construction crews starting their day. Just... stillness. The kind of quiet money could buy. The kind that kept the world at bay.
She moved through the apartment cautiously, feeling like an intruder.
Everything was in its place—not a book out of order on the shelves, not a single coaster slightly askew on the coffee table.
The kitchen gleamed with unused perfection.
The living room looked like a furniture showroom rather than a lived-in space.
It was meticulous. Controlled. Designed to keep things out.
Including her.
And yet—she couldn't help but look.
Kath drifted past the living room, fingers brushing the leather arm of the couch as she passed. The low hum of the refrigerator provided the only soundtrack to her exploration. A closed bedroom door—his—made her pause briefly before she continued on.
She hesitated at the entrance to his office, then stepped inside.
Case files were stacked with military precision on the desk. Legal journals lined the bookshelf in perfect chronological order. A framed law degree hung on the wall, the only personal touch in the entire room. All clean. Precise. Untouchable.
But underneath all the order—she was searching.
For something human. Something soft.
Something him.
Behind her, a voice—low, a little rough around the edges, like it hadn’t been used yet this morning. Out of nowhere.
"Coffee?"
Kath jumped, her heart lurching into her throat. Not from fear. From being caught—like a child with her hand in the cookie jar, exploring places she shouldn't.
She turned to find Ben standing in the doorway. No jacket. Sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle.
His hair was still damp from the shower, darker than usual, a few strands falling across his forehead. Less Sinclair. More... Ben.
"You're offering?" she asked, blinking in surprise.
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were steady on hers, giving nothing away yet somehow seeing everything.
"You're in my space," he said simply, nodding faintly toward the office behind her. "It's either coffee or an interrogation—your choice."
Kath smirked. Couldn't help it. The corner of her mouth lifted before she could stop it.
"I'll take the coffee," she said. "For now."
He nodded once. No smile. But something flickered in his eyes—a brief, barely-there spark that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
He turned and headed toward the kitchen without another word.
And she followed.
Not because she had to. Because she wanted to.
They didn't speak for a few moments. The silence wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't hostile either. Just... present. Existing between them like another person in the room.
The sound of a spoon against ceramic cut through the quiet. The low gurgle of the coffee machine filled the space. Morning light spilled across the countertops, casting long shadows across the floor. The world was still trying to find its footing.
And for the first time since everything started... it almost felt normal.
Not safe. Not easy. But real.
◆◆◆
The room was packed. Associates lined the walls, paralegals scrolled through notes on tablets, and partners murmured in low tones. The air felt thick with anticipation and something else—a current of tension that had been building since Kath's return.
At the head of it all stood Ben. Calm. Commanding.
Every sentence clipped and clean as he outlined their strategy for the Marlowe case. He didn't pace. Didn't fidget. Just stood there, perfectly still, perfectly in control.
He owned the space.
Kath sat stiff-backed at the conference table, arms crossed, expression smooth and unreadable.
But beneath the calm, restlessness twisted in her gut like wire—tight and sharp.
She felt the eyes—too many of them—sliding her way when they thought she wasn’t looking.
Heard the muttered speculation trailing behind her like smoke: why she left, why she came back, why she still had her job—who she had to thank for it.
They all had theories. And none of them were flattering.
And Ben—Mr. Sinclair—was pretending everything was fine. Like the firm wasn’t practically vibrating with rumor.
Like no one was watching the two of them like a car crash waiting to happen.
So fine.
If they were going to whisper, let them choke.
She waited. Watched the rhythm of the meeting like a predator tracks a pulse. Timed it perfectly.
Then:
“I don’t know, Ben—maybe we should be a little more aggressive,” she said, voice deliberate, just loud enough to carry across the room.
Silence.
Immediate. Sharp. Electric.
Pens froze. Brows lifted. Someone actually gasped.
No one called him Ben here. Not in this building. Not in his domain. He was Mr. Sinclair—a name wrapped in formality and fear. A title. A distance.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak.
Just turned to face her. Slowly. Cleanly.
Not a reaction.
A choice.
Their eyes locked across the conference table.
Kath didn't smile. Didn't flinch. But her stomach twisted, tightening into a knot of anticipation that was impossible to ignore.
Because the way he was looking at her?
It wasn't anger. It was something hotter. Heavier.
A promise. A warning. A guarantee.
His gaze slid down—just once. A flicker.
Kath's pulse stuttered as his eyes traced over her blouse, lingering for a fraction of a second before returning to her face.
She knew what he was thinking. Knew he was remembering his punishment, the lingerie she was wearing beneath her suit.
The way the lace pressed against her skin with every shift of her body.
Then he looked back up, and the corner of his mouth ticked—barely.
No reprimand. No correction. Just that look.
She could feel it on her skin. Like a physical touch, trailing heat in its wake. Like he'd reached across the table and dragged his fingers down her throat, over her collarbone, lower.
Across the room, someone coughed. Another rustled papers like they were trying not to die of secondhand tension.
Joshua shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes darting between them with something too knowing in his expression.
But Ben?
"Any additional notes before we wrap?" he asked smoothly, addressing the room without breaking his gaze from hers.
He didn't address her. He didn't need to.
The meeting moved on. People spoke. Files were passed. Decisions were made.
But the shift?
It lingered.
Katherine felt it in the way his eyes stripped her when the room's attention faltered elsewhere. In the dangerous heat climbing her throat like possessive fingers. In the insistent throb low in her—a primal pulse that blurred the line between terror and craving.