Page 53 of A Forbidden Arrangement

“Are you laughing at me?”

His face is flushed when he turns toward me. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Sure.” I try to glare, but my yawn ruins it. My body feels heavier by the second. I lean on my forearm to stay upright.

He holds out his hand. “Come on.”

“What do I want that for?” I swat at it. The motion is slower than I intend. His hand doesn’t move.

“I thought you could use help getting upstairs.”

“No need.” I stand too quickly to prove it, and the room tips. My knees wobble. I reach for the first solid thing I can. My palm lands on his forearm, warm under my fingers. The heat seeps into me, steady and impossible to ignore.

The muscle under my hand tightens. I trace the edge of a vein with my fingertips before I catch myself. “Stupid, sexy forearms.”

Xander tips his head back and sighs toward the ceiling. “Give me strength.”

“What do you need strength for? You’re not the one turned on by your captor.”

His lips twitch, and he shakes his head. “Okay. Let’s get you to bed before you hate yourself in the morning.”

I blink up at him, words slower than my thoughts. “Did I say that out loud?”

He doesn’t confirm or deny. He just dips, curling one arm under my knees and the other behind my back. The motion is smooth, practiced. My breath catches as the floor falls away.

“Put me down,” I mumble, squirming, but his arms tighten, holding me steady.

“Careful. You’ll get hurt.”

I press my face into his chest so he can’t see the heat rising up my neck. The soft fabric of his shirt smells like faint cologne and something distinctly him underneath.

“Stupid logic,” I mutter into him.

A low sound rumbles against my cheek, the kind that feels like a laugh but never quite makes it there. He doesn’t answer, just carries me through the hall. His stride doesn’t falter as he climbs the stairs. Every step creaks in the quiet, and I can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek.

The door to my room opens.

“You’re not allowed to be in here.” My voice comes out weaker than I intend.

He hums deep in his throat, crossing to the bed. “I won’t stay long.”

The small voice in my head whispers that it wouldn’t be so bad if he did. I shove that thought as far away as possible, blaming the alcohol for every single thing happening right now.

He lowers me to the mattress, and I grab his collar before he can step back. The world tilts slightly, spinning just enough that I have to focus on him to stay grounded. “There’s one thing I want.”

His fingers slide around the back of my neck, rough but careful. His thumb traces the edge of my jaw, moving back and forth in a slow rhythm that makes it hard to think. “Tell me.”

I swallow, my throat dry. My tongue runs along my bottom lip, and his eyes follow the motion. For a second, I forget what I was even going to say. His pupils are wide, almost black, eating up the gray around them.

“Tell me, Dahlia.” His voice is lower now, quieter.

“I want to leave this house.”

Everything in him goes still. His hand tightens slightly on the back of my neck. A muscle jumps in his jaw.

I let go of his shirt and drop my hands to my sides. “It’s boring here. Can’t we go somewhere with people? Don’t you do rich people stuff?”

His grip eases, and something in his expression changes. “You want to go somewhere with me?”