Sullivan pulled away from Dahlia and sat up, his mind was in turmoil. He couldn't allow himself to go any further with her; once he let that barrier fall, he feared he'd be lost in her charm, surrendering to something he wasn't ready for.
Not now.
He reminded himself, running his fingers through his hair, trying to regain composure.
Dahlia propped herself up on her elbows, her brow furrowing as she studied his face. "What happened? Did I do something wrong?" she asked, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.
Sullivan, avoiding her gaze, tried to shift the conversation. "What kind of stories do you like?"
Dahlia blinked, clearly taken aback. "Stories? I thought we were—"
"Just stop," he interrupted, his voice firmer than before. "Answer the question. What kind of stories do you like?"
