He stood there, a dominant, unmovable force, demanding she descend from her intellectual heights into the raw, messy reality of her desire.
"That's..." She started, but the words died in her throat.
She searched for a clinical term, a psychological framework, a way to categorize the sudden, frantic beating of her heart. But there was no jargon for the way her skin hummed when he looked at her like that.
"You know what that is."
"I know what I think it is," Mike said, his eyes darkening, his gaze locking onto hers with a predatory, beautiful intensity. "But I want to hear you say it..."
"I want to know if I'm right."
Madison held his gaze, her composure a masterpiece of fragile architecture. She possessed the rare, terrifying skill of someone who could maintain a perfect mask even while the foundation was crumbling beneath her; she was acutely aware of her own loss of balance, yet she refused to let the world see her stumble.
