The leather of Harvey's office couch feels expensive beneath me as I pretend to read over case notes. The truth is, I'm too aware of Harvey behind his desk - the way his sleeve rides up his forearm when he reaches for his coffee, the concentration on his face as he reads, the slight furrow between his brows that I've come to recognize as frustration.

"You're not reading," he says without looking up.

I start, realizing I've been staring. "What makes you say that?"

He finally looks at me, that knowing smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Because you've been on the same page for ten minutes, and you're supposed to be the genius."

My cheeks warm slightly. "I'm thinking."

"About what?"

The air feels heavier suddenly, charged with something unspoken that's been building between us for weeks. Since the night he took me home after drinks, since he kissed me in his apartment, since we woke up tangled together this morning.

"About Hardison," I lie. "And Eliot. They want to come by tonight. Bring dinner as an apology for... well, for Eliot stalking me."

Harvey leans back in his chair, studying me. "And you want to invite them into your home."

It's not quite a question, not quite a judgment. "They're my friends. And Eliot makes this lasagna that's supposed to be incredible."

He stands suddenly, moving to the front of his desk, crossing his arms. From this angle, I can see the way his shirt stretches across his chest, and I have to force myself not to look at his hands - hands that touched me so thoroughly last night.

"You should invite them," he says finally. Then, quieter: "I'll be there too."

My heart skips a beat. "You want to have dinner with my hacker friend and his homicidal boyfriend?"

"I want to be with you," he says simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "And I want to keep an eye on the situation."

Before I can respond, Donna's voice comes through the intercom: "Louis is heading your way, Harvey. He looks... determined."

Harvey sighs. "Perfect timing. Hide," he says, nodding toward the connecting door to his private bathroom.

I hesitate, looking up at him. This is our new normal - stolen moments, half-truths, near misses with discovery. But as I stand, I find myself caught by his gaze, unable to move toward the bathroom as Louis's voice echoes down the hallway.

Harvey steps closer, his body almost touching mine, his hand brushing my cheek. "Later," he murmurs, before stepping back and composing himself just as Louis appears in the doorway.