“Touch me, and I’ll bite,” she hisses, but her voice catches on the last word. Her gaze drops to my mouth for a heartbeat.
The ceiling fan barely stirs the thick air between us. Sweat prickles at my hairline. I lean in, close enough to see the constellation of freckles across her nose.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, little mouse?”
Her pupils dilate, the black completely swallowing the blue. She sways forward—just an inch—then freezes. My brother’s face flashes in front of my eyes. His crooked finger. His trust. His dream to keep this company together because I couldn’t care less.
She shoves the glass back. Water sloshes over her knuckles, dripping onto the bar. “Screw you, Noah. You’re just like them with your controlling issues.”
My fingers lock around her wrist, and my hand swallows her arm. So small. So easy to break.
“I’m nothing like them.” The words scrape my throat.
Her erratic pulse hammers under my thumb, matching the thud in my chest. She’s close enough that I catch the heat of her body. The bartender clinks glasses somewhere behind my back while the empty lounge stretches dark and quiet. Bea’s eyes lower to my mouth as her pupils remain wide and dark. Her tongue peeks out to wet her lower lip.
I drop her wrist like she just burned me and step back, knocking over the barstool. “Get your shit together, princess. You’re not my problem.”
Her face crumples for half a second—eyebrows pulling together, lips pressing white—before her jaw sets hard.
“Then leave me alone,” she hisses, sliding off the stool. Her ankle twists, body tilting sideways. My hand shoots out, gripping her elbow before she falls.
“Let go,” she snarls, but her voice cracks, and she doesn’t pull away immediately.
“Not until you’re in my room—yourroom,” I fix my mishap quickly, hoping she won’t notice. “You have to go to your room.”
I could just fulfill her request and let her be, but leaving her here, gorgeous and drunk, with creeps potentially lurking? Not happening.
Glaring at me, she yanks her arm free. “You’re not my knight, caveman. Did you forget?”
“Trust me, I haven’t.” My jaw clenches tight. “But I’m not leaving.”
Because we’re standing so close, I can see the flutter of her pulse at the hollow of her throat. Her eyes flick to my mouth, then away. The space between us shrinks, half an inch, then another. I give in to the pull that we are both feeling?—
My phone vibrates against my thigh. Martin’s name lights up the screen. I press it to my ear, not stepping back. “What?”
“Ezra’s not—”Martin’s voice crackles through static.“—logs show the ferry—storm—no sign of—or—Wrong.”
My stomach drops, and the phone nearly slips from my sweating palm. Even with his half-coherent speech, I realize that there’s no good news.
“Call me when you find something out.” I hang up, shoving the phone deep in my pocket. When I look up, Beatrice’s eyes have lost their fire, replaced with something softer around the edges.
“Ezra?” The whiskey slur has vanished from her voice.
“Delayed.” The lie tastes metallic, and I clear my throat to remove its aftertaste. “Your room. Now.”
She rolls her eyes but falls in step beside me, our arms brushing occasionally when she staggers from her stride. The pathway made of carved stone is deserted, no guests—just us and our ever-present tension.
At her door, the key card trembles between her fingers as she holds it up like a shield.
“Mission accomplished, caveman.” Her lips quirk up at one corner. “You can go report to your brother now.”
I lean against the frame, too close again. Seems I can’t help myself around her. “You sure? Don’t want you tripping over your own ego.”
She laughs, bitter. “Better than falling for yours.” Her eyes drop to my lips for the umpteenth time today, and the air charges, that pull yanking us closer once again. But she’s drunk and can’t think clearly. While I can.
“Stay out of trouble, little mouse,” I say cooly, turning away before I do something stupid.
“Fuck you, caveman,” she calls after me, slamming the door.
