The next few nights, I let her be.
No extra comments. No grabbing her. No pressure.
Just a look here and there. A smirk when she walked by.
I could tell it was getting to her.
She glanced at my cell longer than she should. Her movements were more tense, like she was waiting for me to say something. But I didn't.
I let the silence work for me.
Then one night she slipped.
She was going through her routine, stopping by each cell for meds and checks. When she reached mine, I was sitting on my bunk waiting.
"Need anything tonight?" She asked, her voice clipped, all business.
I grinned. "You."
Her lips pressed into a tight line. "You said you were done blackmailing me."
I shrugged. "I am."
She let out a slow breath, clearly frustrated. "Then stop this."
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees voice dropping to something low and intimate. "You're the one stopping at my cell every night, acting like you don't want me to say something."
Her jaw tightened. "I'm doing my job."
I smirked. "And I'm just having a conversation."
She shook her head, clearly irritated, but she didn't move. Didn't step away. She was waiting for something, even if she wouldn't admit it.
I let my gaze drag all over her body--those tight scrubs clinging to her full thighs, the way her top stretched over her curves. Even pissed off, she was fine as hell.
"You don't want to admit it." I said slowly, letting my voice wrap around her, "but I know you've thought about it."
She scoffed. "You're delusional."
I stood up closing the space between us. She took half a step back but hit the cell bars behind her.
I reached up, trailing a single finger down her arm, barely touching. She shivered.
"Tell me you don't want it." I sweet talked her.
Her breathing was uneven now.
Her lips parted slightly.
Then--
She pushed off the bars, forcing herself to straighten. "I'm married."