He hesitates. “Wouldn’t it be weird if we left together? I’m off duty tonight.”
“Leave that to me.” I stand up, relieved that my erection has subsided enough to be concealed by my suit jacket. “Follow my lead.”
I rub my cheeks hard to bring some color to them, then ruffle my hair to look disheveled. Gray watches me with a raised eyebrow but doesn’t comment.
“Ready?” I ask, moving around the table to him.
He stands, towering over me. “For what, exactly?”
Instead of answering, I step into his personal space and lean against his side, letting my head roll onto his shoulder. He stiffens momentarily, then his arm comes up to support me, wrapping around my waist with a firm pressure that feels like security and danger all at once.
“You smell good,” I murmur, because it’s true and because I can’t help myself.
“Wyatt,” he warns, but there’s no real heat in it. His hand tightens on my waist, contradicting his tone.
I guide us toward the door, clinging to him like I can barely stand. It’s partly an act, partly an excuse to press my body against his solid warmth. Up close, I can feel the controlled power in him, the way his muscles shift as he walks. It’s intoxicating.
We make our way to my father’s antiquities room, where the others are gathered around a display case. Heads turn as we enter, Gray’s arm still around me, my body pressed to his side.
“I’m sorry, everyone,” I announce, making my voice weak and slightly slurred. “I think I need to go home. I’m really not feeling well.”
Mom rushes over, concern etched on her face. “Wyatt, you’re flushed. Do you have a fever?” She presses a cool hand to my forehead.
“I’m fine,” I mumble, leaning more heavily into Gray. “Just need to lie down. Gray’s offered to take me home.”
“That’s very kind of Mr. Holt,” Mom says, giving Gray an appreciative look. “But isn’t Sam on duty tonight? We shouldn’t keep Mr. Holt from enjoying his evening as our guest.”
I feel Gray tense beside me, his arm tightening around my waist. The gesture makes heat pool in my gut. He doesn’t want to let me go.
Feeling bold, I wrap my arm around his middle, fisting my hand in his suit jacket. “I want Gray to take me,” I say, playing up the spoiled brat role I’ve perfected over the years.
Dad frowns, glancing between us. “I suppose if Mr. Holt doesn’t mind…”
“I’m happy to take him, sir,” Gray says, his voice the perfect blend of professional concern and reluctance. “I’d feel better knowing he got home safely.”
Daniela studies us with narrowed eyes. “I can come too. If you need help.”
“No need,” Gray says quickly. “It’s just a headache, not a security threat.”
Alyssa steps forward. “I could come with you, Wyatt. To take care of you.”
I tighten my hold on Gray, pressing closer to his side. “No thanks,” I say, not bothering to hide my disdain. “I’ve had enough of your kind of care.”
Her face flushes with anger or embarrassment—I don’t care which. The Palmers look uncomfortable, exchanging glances. Dad clears his throat, obviously annoyed at my lack of diplomacy.
“Well then,” Mom says brightly, trying to salvage the awkward moment. “We won’t keep you. Feel better, honey.”
We say our goodbyes, my exit made less graceful by my commitment to acting ill. Gray plays along, his arm steady around me, his body a wall of warmth against my side. As we reach the doorway, I hear Thomas Palmer’s voice behind us.
“Carson, your son seems very close with his bodyguard.”
15
Gray
The elevator ride up to Wyatt’s penthouse is silent, both of us still vibrating with the energy from what happened at dinner. We haven’t touched since leaving his parents’ house, but the air between us is charged, like the moment before lightning strikes. I keep my eyes fixed on the floor numbers ticking upward, fighting the urge to look at him or reach for him.
The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and Wyatt steps out first. I follow, maintaining distance as he unlocks his door and pushes it open. The penthouse is dark except for the city lights streaming through the wall of windows, casting long shadows across the minimalist furniture. Wyatt flips on a single lamp, bathing the space in warm, dim light.
