“She knows you’re with us,” he grumbles, but he finally loosens his grip. He rolls onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the faint red light. “She probably knows we’re keeping you hostage.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
I squint, looking around the room. It must be Fallon’s bedroom. It’s messy—clothes piled on a chair, books stacked on the floor.
I’m wearing a T-shirt. A massive, white T-shirt that falls to my mid-thighs. It smells like detergent and Knox. It must be his.
The fabric is soft against my skin.
I slide carefully out of bed. My feet hit the concrete floor, instantly cold. I look for the light switch, navigating by the glow of the clock.
“Looking for this?” Fallon’s voice cuts through the dark. He’s sitting up, the sheets pooling around his waist as he turns the lights on.
He pushes the covers back, swinging his legs out of bed.
He stands up. He’s completely naked.
My eyes widen, and I can’t look away. The red light from the clock casts shadows over his body, highlighting the ridges of his abs, the cut of his hips, the tattoos that ink his skin.
He stretches his arms over his head, his muscles rippling and shifting, looking like a predator waking from a hunt. Heat floods my belly, instant and distracting.
I remember how those hips felt between my thighs, how his hands gripped my waist. My body reacts instantly, a traitorous throb of want that has no business existing after a night like I just had.
“You’re staring, Sunshine,” he says, a smirk in his tone.
He walks over to a dresser, completely unashamed, and pulls on a pair of boxers. The cotton slides up his muscular thighs, hiding the view.
“I’m... admiring the artwork,” I manage, my face heating.
He laughs, a low, sleepy sound. He grabs a pair of jeans and steps into them, buttoning them up. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”
He takes my hand. His palm is warm, callused, and twice the size of mine. He leads me into the hallway.
The warehouse is silent, the high ceilings looming in the dark. We walk past the living room, and I see my purse sitting on the kitchen island.
“Found it,” I say, relief washing over me. I dig through it, pulling out my phone.
The screen lights up, blinding me for a second. I have three texts from Norah.
Just checking in. Everything okay?
It’s late. Just want to make sure you’re safe.
Maisie asked for you at bedtime. I told her you were working late.
The timestamps are from two hours ago.
“Yikes,” I murmur. “I need to go.”
“You could stay,” Fallon says. He leans against the counter, watching me. “The bed is big enough.”
“I can’t.” I shake my head. “Maisie needs me there in the morning. And Jude... if he wakes up and I’m not there...”
“I get it.” He nods, pushing off the counter. “I’ll drive you.”
“You don’t have to. I can get a cab.”
