Page 156 of Wrong Number Right Doctor

“For clarity. The situation becomes harder to control the longer⁠—”

I laugh again, this time because if I don’t, I might actually scream. “There it is.”

“What?”

“Control.”

His expression flattens. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s exactly what you said.”

He looks at me like I’m being difficult. I see it happen. The moment I stop behaving like a grateful, manageable person and become an obstacle instead. I hate that he does that to me. I hate that I still feel the need to justify myself in front of him.

For one second I just look at him.

Then I step back, because I suddenly understand that there is no winning this conversation tonight. Not in this room. Not with him. He’s already standing inside the most defensible version of what he did, and he will live there all night if I let him.

“I’m done,” I say.

He studies me. “I think you should take a minute.”

“That’s generous of you.”

His face closes. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

“No,” I say. “You’ll wait until I want to hear from you.”

I don’t wait for permission this time. I leave him standing there and go back into the hall, my hands cold, my face hot, my body still buzzing with humiliation. I don’t know exactly where I’m going until I realize I’m looking for Dalton.

Of course I am.

I find him on the balcony.

The doors are half-open and the night air coming in is cold enough to cut through the heat in my face. He’s standing with both hands on the railing, looking out into the dark like he’s trying to empty his head and failing.

He hears me. Turns.

I don’t say anything at first. Neither does he.

Then I say, “I didn’t know.”

He looks at me for one second and nods. “I know.”

That almost undoes me. Not because it’s comforting. Because he believes me without making me prove it.

“I didn’t know about the pictures either,” I say. “Or the speech. I didn’t know any of it.”

“I know.”

I take another step toward him. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

He looks past me, into the room behind me, then back at my face. Something in his expression changes. “Come here.”

Before I can ask what that means, he catches my wrist and pulls me off the balcony, down the hall, and into the first empty room he finds. It’s dark except for a lamp in the corner. He shuts the door quietly, turns the lock, and then he’s on me.

His mouth is on mine so fast I barely get a breath between the hallway and the kiss. I gasp into him, and he uses the sound, deepening the kiss immediately, one hand braced against the door behind me, the other gripping my hip hard enough to make my body arch into his before I can think about it.

I kiss him back just as hard.