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Her touch lingers just long enough to make my breath hitch.
Just long enough to make me wonder—If I kissed her now, would it feel like a lie? Or would it feel like it did last night? Thisis exactly why we’re not talking about that kiss. Because once we start, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.
Behind us, someone drops a glass, and it shatters the moment.
The sound of breaking glass fades into the background noise, but the moment has shifted. I turn to face her fully, knowing what I’m about to say might cross a line we shouldn’t be crossing.
“You know,” I say, keeping my voice casual even though my heart is racing, “people are going to ask about our first time together.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Our first...?”
“We should have a story ready.” I step closer, watching the way her breath catches. “Something believable. Intimate.”
The flush spreading across her cheeks is visible even in the dim light. “You think we need to discuss that now?”
“Better to be prepared.” I brush my thumb across her bare shoulder, feeling her shiver. “Unless you’d rather improvise?”
She meets my gaze, and for a moment, I see something raw and wanting in her eyes. Then she straightens, putting a slight distance between us.
“I think,” she says carefully, “that’s a conversation for another time.”
But her voice trembles slightly, and I know she’s thinking about last night’s kiss just as much as I am.
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” I let my hand drop, but I don’t miss the way she sways toward me before catching herself. “But sooner or later, we’ll need to talk about it.”
She turns back toward the party, but not before I catch the heat in her eyes. “We should get back.”
I watch her walk away, knowing one thing for certain: this game we’re playing just got a lot more dangerous.
Ten
Lacey
The house is dark when we get back, the only light coming from the moon reflecting off the ocean. My heels click against the hardwood as we walk inside, hyper-aware of his presence behind me.
The evening feels unfinished somehow, charged with everything we’re not saying. His words from the terrace echo in my mind: “We should have a story ready. Something believable. Intimate.”
I shiver, remembering the way he looked at me when he said it, like he was imagining exactly how that story might unfold.
“Want a nightcap?” Nate asks, his voice low in the darkness.
I should say no. I should head upstairs to my room and put some distance between us. Instead, I hear myself say, “Sure.”
He moves through the dark kitchen with familiar ease, pulling out two glasses and a bottle of something amber. I watch the muscles in his forearms flex as he pours, his sleeves still rolled up from earlier.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks, sliding a glass toward me.
I take a long sip, letting the whiskey warm my throat. “Just... thinking about the party.”
“Yeah?” He leans against the counter, studying me. “Which part?”
The dancing. Your hands on my waist. The way you looked at me on the terrace. The fact that I can’t stop thinking about kissing you again.
“All of it,” I say instead. “It felt...”
“Real?”
Our eyes meet in the darkness, and my breath catches. The moonlight streaming through the windows casts shadows across his face, making him look dangerous and beautiful.