Free True North (Compass series Book 4) by Tamsen Parker

can hear him.
    “The extent to which you were not supposed to be here tonight cannot be overstated.”
    She nods and licks her lips, a nervous flicker of her tongue. Suddenly the hallway seems endless, like the space-time continuum has ceased to exist. Which makes as much sense as running into my ex-wife in a fetish club. On a Tuesday.
    Pressly and I can’t stop staring at each other. This is unreal. I’d thought we’d run into each other at some point, had dreaded the day for the first few years after the divorce. But when I hadn’t seen her walking down the street or at any of the events I couldn’t avoid, it had started to seem like a dread borne of pure paranoia and I had too many real things to worry about. It eventually became less of a fretful nightmare and more of an idle daydream. What if …
    But here she is, in the flesh. And flesh is accurate. All plump and creamy where she isn’t slickly red, I want to eat her up. Except…
    “What are you doing here?”
    This unmistakably caveman part of me has roared to life and wants to drag her out by the hair. Not to my cave, even, just out of here. What is she doing here?
    At my snarled question, her expression morphs from bewildered to defensive and her hand comes to her hip, resting on that damnably tight skirt.
    “I could ask you the same thing.”
    My face flushes with blood because what the hell am I doing here? And how is it fair that I want to be here, but don’t want her to be? My hands itch for her, for the feel of her skin underneath my fingertips, and I step forward, my hand out.
    Only to be rebuffed by the iron bar of Rey’s arm, his hand planted firmly on my chest, holding me back.
    “You can’t touch her. And if you ever want to come here again, you can’t make a scene. So make your choice and make it wisely.”
    I do want to come here again. I don’t want to make a scene. But the urge to touch her is overwhelming. I close my hands into fists and draw my shoulder blades together. I think I would feel better if I could touch her. Make sure she’s okay. It’s this funny urge I’ve always had where Press is concerned, and it’s back with a vengeance. If she’d been out late, if she’d been upset, or that day her phone had died and I couldn’t get ahold of her for three hours—when she’d finally arrived home, I’d taken her into my arms and didn’t let go for a good five minutes. Even if I know in my brain that she’s okay, my body won’t believe it until I can touch her, hold her, feel her heart beating and her skin warm against mine.
    Pressly huffs a sigh and lays a hand on Rey’s outstretched arm. “It’s okay. He can touch me. Not a lot,” she warns, tilting her chin up and making eye contact with me. She remembers, and she’s going to give this to me.
    Rey drops his arm warily and doesn’t move from Pressly’s side. I should be insulted—does he think I’m going to hurt her?—but if he’s been her bodyguard, I can’t complain. I’d want someone to protect her, keep her safe.
    She said not a lot so I can’t wrap my arms around her, hold her to my chest like I want to, so I rest my hands on her biceps, squeezing lightly to prove to myself that she’s real and that she’s okay. She smiles at me when I do, perhaps a little indulgently, but I don’t care. I’m just glad she’s letting me touch her.
    “I’ve got to get back,” she says, tipping her head toward the room she came out of. I reluctantly peel my fingers off her and let her go. Back into that room, back to—who is she with and what is he doing to her? The extent to which that’s not my business is not even funny. I wish it were.
    She smiles at me, her heavily made-up eyes darting to the side before she hugs Rey again, whispering something that makes him laugh before he lets her go.
    “Be good, be careful.” He taps her on the nose, and she laughs, grabbing his finger and kissing the tip.
    “Do I get to have fun too?”
    “Always.”
    She casts one