“So as much as I love playing the hero,” I say, brushing off my shirt, “you want to tell me what you were doing out there?”
She avoids my eyes, smoothing her dress like it personally offended her. No answer.
I reach for her hand—lightly, a brush of my thumb over her palm—and she flinches. Pulls her hand back.
That’s when I notice her hands are raw, skin red and scraped. How long was she clinging to that ledge? And why? That last question simmers, but I dismiss it—for the moment—to take care of her.
“Come on,” I murmur, gently tugging her into my room.
She resists.
“You’re welcome to try the ledge again, Billy.”
“Don’t call me that.” But the nickname does its magic. Always does. She storms past me like she’s in charge but makes a beeline for the door.
“No, you don’t.”
I catch her momentum, my hand on her elbow, giving her a little spin like it’s a dance. Her hands land softly on my chest, and for a second, everything stops. Our eyes lock. She starts to pull back, but I don’t let her.
My gaze drops to her right hand. The missing ring. This is my shot.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I say quietly. “What were you doing on that ledge?”
Her fingers twitch against my shirt. If she had the ring, she’d be spinning it right now. She’s stalling. Buying time. Reaching for a story.
And I already know—it’s not going to be the truth.
So I decide to help. “You weren’t trying to break in somewhere, were you?”
Her eyes go wide. “Are you feeling okay?” She presses the back of her hand to my forehead like she’s checking for a fever.
A beat passes.
Her hand lingers a second too long, then she yanks it back like I burned her. Like she felt the same current of electricity I did.
“Stop raising your brows like that,” she snaps.
I lift them higher. “Like what?”
“Like that.” She scowls at me, cheeks flushed.
“You’re mad at my eyebrows?
“Only because you know how to use them.”
“Use them?”
She lets out a dramatic sigh and steps back, swatting the air between us like she’s trying to shoo away a swarm of bees—or maybe just the crackling chemistry we’re pretending not to notice. “You’re insufferable,” she mutters. “Of course you don’t get it. I raise my eyebrows and look like I’m being electrocuted. You do it and it’s all... smoldering.”
I let one brow dance up again. “Smoldering, huh?”
“You’resoannoying.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, you were breaking in.”
She crosses her arms. “I wasnot—”
She exhales hard, like I’m the one being ridiculous, and pushes away from me. “I was trying to help a cat.”
