Page 47 of Undercover Shadow

But I couldn’t do that to myself again.

I shoved against his chest, creating space between us. He stumbled back a step.

“Tag, you’ve had too much to drink.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“You are.” My voice cracked despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “You said everything ended when we left Dunravin. Those were your words.”

“I was wrong?—”

“You were clear.” Tears threatened, but I refused to let them fall.

“Leila—”

“I’m going to bed.” I ducked under his arm, putting the width of the alcove between us before he could reach for me again. “We’ll talk tomorrow. When you’re sober.”

“Wait—”

“No. Not like this. Not when you’re inebriated and saying things you’ll regret the moment the sun comes up.”

His face crumpled, and in the dim light filtering through from the main hall, I could see past the Earl of Glenshadow, past the deadly operative, straight through to the boy who’d watched his parents destroy each other and vowed never to repeat their mistakes.

But I couldn’t save him from himself, not when he wouldn’t even try to save us.

“Good night, Tag.”

I left him standing in the shadows and made myself walk back through the castle at a normal pace, refusing to run even though every instinct screamed at me to put distance between us. My feet carried me up the stairs and down the hallway to my room, moving on autopilot while my mind replayed every word, every touch, every moment I should have handled differently.

My hands trembled as I unlocked my door, worse as I locked it behind me once I was inside.

The tears came then—silent and hot, streaming down my face as I leaned against the door for support.

He’d said I was his. After spending three days at Dunravin, showing me what that could mean, then telling me it meant nothing.

I pressed my eyes with the heels of my palms, trying to stem the flow, trying to breathe through the ache expanding in my chest.

Tomorrow, I’d have to pretend my heart wasn’t breaking. I’d have to be Nightingale the operative again.

I pushed off the door and removed the jumper I’d pulled on earlier, glancing at the locked door I guessed separated our rooms as I walked over to the bed. It was a stark reminder of the walls between us, of the locks he’d installed to keep me out and keep himself safe.

I climbed into bed and pulled the covers up, but sleep still wouldn’t come. Not with the adrenaline coursing through my veins. Not with the memory of his hands on my waist and his body pressed against mine.

I gasped and sat up, clutching the covers to my chest when the connecting door opened.

Tag stood in the doorway, swaying on his feet. There was a desperate look in his eyes. Or maybe it was shame.

“Tag, what are you doing?”

“I’m sorry.” He stepped farther into the room. “I just…I needed to…”

“You need to leave.”

“Can we pretend?” His words slurred together. “Everything from earlier. Outside. Can we just…forget it happened?”

“No. We can’t.”

“Leila. I’m sorry. Christ, I’m so sorry.” He took another step into the room, struggling to find the right words through the fog of alcohol. “I shouldn’t have… I had no right…”