She didn’t need to speak.

Emma’s presence alone filled the room—heels clicking against polished marble, perfume like frostbitten roses trailing in her wake. But it wasn’t her footsteps that made the woman on the chaise inhale sharply. It was the voice in her mind.

“Lie still. I want to see if you flinch when I think about touching you.”

Emma circled like a predator with nowhere to be, every thought she projected soft, low, devastating. There were no hands on her—yet her breath caught as if there were. No lips—yet her mouth tingled. She squeezed the velvet cushion beneath her, eyes fluttering shut.

“You can lie, darling. But your body won’t.”

The danger of loving a telepath wasn’t that she’d read your secrets.

It was that she’d unwrap them slowly… and enjoy every unraveling moment.