Dr. Lyra Quinn's POV
I should've known better.
No, really. I should have known better. There are entire sections in the research ethics manual about personal space, consent, and proximity. Hell, I co-wrote one of them. But nothing — absolutely nothing — prepared me for conducting a physical boundaries test on a vampire who looked like he strolled off the cover of a very expensive, very illegal romance novel.
Vincent lounged on the medical-grade recliner like it was a velvet throne, one ankle resting casually atop his opposite knee, all dark jeans and smug smiles. His black shirt clung to him like it had secrets, his sleeves rolled up just enough to expose those damn forearms — tattooed with intricate script and linework that moved slightly when he flexed.
"Are you going to explain the test," he drawled, "or are you just going to keep mentally undressing me?"
My clipboard slammed into the counter.
"I was reviewing notes."
"You said that three minutes ago," he replied, gaze flicking to the mirror — the one he knew was one-way glass. "Is your team watching?"
"Always."
"Then let's give them a show, Dr. Quinn."
I hated that my heart actually did a thing when he said my name like that. Like it wasn't just a name, but a challenge.
"Today's test," I said, doing my best impression of Professional Scientist Who Is Not At All Distracted By Broad Shoulders™, "is to assess your response to gradually decreased personal space and light physical contact. We'll determine tolerance thresholds and note any stress markers."
His smirk widened. "So, foreplay with a lab coat."
I glared. "Boundaries, Mr. Moreau."
"Physical ones. Emotional ones. Verbal ones. I'll take all your boundaries, Doctor. That's the point, isn't it?"
I regretted giving him caffeine two days ago. And sugar. And time to study my tells. He now knew I fidgeted with pens when flustered. That I corrected my posture when nervous. That I bit my lip when annoyed — which unfortunately overlapped with "mildly turned on."
"Let's begin," I snapped, setting my tablet to record.
I stepped into the marked circle on the floor. The proximity zone. Just close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him in waves. A vampire, yes — but one with startling body warmth. Another quirk of their physiology.
I held out a hand. "I'm going to touch your forearm."
"Go ahead."
The moment my fingers brushed against his skin — just the lightest contact — goosebumps trailed up my arm like he'd shocked me.
"Recording pulse response," I muttered.
"Recording how good she smells," he said toward the glass.
"Don't flirt with the mirror, it won't flirt back."
"Give it time."
I moved my hand up, tracing the line of a tattoo — an old script in French.
"It means 'To endure is to live twice,'" he murmured.
I glanced up. "That's poetic."
He smiled faintly. "So was the woman who inked it. She was a baroness. I think."
"You think?"
"Hard to remember," he said, then leaned closer — just enough that I caught the scent of him. Something sharp and grounding — like sandalwood and pine smoke and forbidden things.
"Please don't lean into the proximity test," I said.
"You're supposed to push boundaries, aren't you?"
"No. I push. You respond."
"Then push, Dr. Quinn."
The problem was — I did.
I stepped even closer. Our knees were almost touching now. I placed a hand on his chest, monitoring his breathing — only to realize mine was the erratic one.
"You're flushed," he said.
"I'm warm."
"You're sweating."
"It's hot in here."
"You turned down the thermostat two degrees."
I cursed under my breath and adjusted the sensor clipped to his pulse point. He reached up — slow, intentional — and touched my wrist. Just two fingers. Nothing inappropriate. But it felt dangerous.
"Vincent," I warned.
"Lyra."
Oh no.
Oh no.
It was the way he said it. Like it belonged to him. Like he'd waited months just to say it without the 'Doctor' in front.
"Test concluded," I announced, stepping back like the room was on fire.
He smiled like he'd won.
I hated that he had.
---
Back in the observation room...
"She lasted twelve minutes in the final proximity zone," the assistant whispered.
"That's a new record," said the intern.
"Is she blushing?"
"Oh, she's very blushing."
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