Linghe sat down, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the shirt. The obsession he felt for her flared—a mix of irritation and an overwhelming, dark attraction.
"That shirt," he said, his voice low. "It's a very specific choice, Nyx. Are you trying to evoke a memory, or are you just mocking me?"
Nyx finally looked up. Her eyes were wide, luminous, and completely unreadable. She reached across the table, her fingers grazing the cuff of his sleeve. "I'm admiring the craftsmanship, Linghe. Just like I admire the way you're trying so hard to be the one in control right now."
She leaned in, the scent of her skin—warm and clinical—filling his lungs. "You think you've observed me. You think you've found my 'monster.' But tell me... did you ever wonder why a woman with two degrees and a medical breakthrough would spend her only 36 hours of freedom with a man she claims is just a 'specimen'?"
Linghe reached out, his hand wrapping firmly around her wrist. He didn't hurt her, but his grip was a claim. "Because you're bored, Nyx. And I'm the only thing on this island that isn't afraid of you."
"Is that what you think?" Nyx whispered, her face inches from his. She didn't pull away from his grip; she leaned into it, using his strength as an anchor. "You think I'm the one who's bored?"