Page 168 of Always: A Legacy Novel

Just to tease him, she kicked her chiffon skirt out, making the billowy material cover his vision. She had said her feet were sore, and she didn’t want to walk all the way up to the top floor where their room was, even after he pointed out there were elevators.

So, fine.

He carried her.

Catherine kicked her skirt at him again.

“Keep doing that,” he warned, “and I will rip the damn thing off.”

Her fingernails dragged through the hair at the nape of his neck, and he felt her lean up and over more to bite his shoulder. “Why are you so mean to me?”

“Oh, babe, you don’t want me to get mean,” he teased.

“What in the hell is at your back?” Catherine asked, her hand sliding down his jacket.

“Careful, it’s a holster.”

Catherine’s hand snapped back up to his neck. “A gun?”

“I slipped the holster back on when I changed at home, didn’t think about it.”

He was used to needing it on, now. It was second nature, although he wasn’t supposed to be taking weapons to school. He didn’t trust anybody, so the gun went.

“Oh.”

Cross came to their room, slid the card through the reader near the handle, and listened to the hinge pop open. He didn’t bother to sit Catherine to her feet once they were inside and he had the door kicked closed, instead waiting until he was close enough to the bed to drop her on it.

Like a cute kitten, she stretched out on the bed. And then that cuteness left, leaving her sexy grin in place as she showed off all kinds of leg, arched her back, and flashed her teeth at him.

Cross pulled her red-soled Louboutin’s off her feet and dropped them to the floor. Catherine immediately turned over and reached for the bottle of wine in a waiting stainless steel chiller. The wine came with the room, or so Cross found out when he asked for his step-father to book the place—it was standard given the hotel and cost, but that didn’t matter to him. He snatched it out of her hands before she could even turn back over.

“Fuck that,” Cross said, setting the bottle aside.

If she opened that bottle, she would empty it. Cross was not playing that game with Catherine tonight. She would drink until she was out of it, or she wanted to pick a fight, and he would be the one taking care of her until she was sober and apologizing. She didn’t seem to know her limits, and he didn’t mind controlling whether or not she even started trying to find her limit, if he could.

Catherine pouted. “That’s not fair.”

“We’re not doing that tonight,” he said, shrugging.

She huffed, moving off the bed, and yanking the chiffon of her dress to make it go with her. “Fuck you, Cross.”

“Catty, come on.”

“Why would you want to pick a fight tonight? It was a great night.”

Cross folded his arms over his chest. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. I took that away to prevent a fight. You drink, you rage, we fight, we fuck, and then one of us bolts for a while. That’s how it’s been going for the last, like, eight months. I’m tired of that bullshit.”

Catherine’s gaze darted away from his. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, no. I was actually giving you some credit there, babe. I didn’t even mention the shit you pull when you do bolt and how I’ve pulled you out of really scary situations, or the nonsense I keep having to hide from your parents, or how about—”

“Just … stop.” Catherine frowned, her green eyes finding his. “I get it.”

Cross sighed. “I don’t want to fight, Catherine.”

He fought with her a lot.

Too much.