“Think you meant,thank you, Kade,” I mutter, voice low as I lean over her and click the buckle into place.
Her chest brushes mine, little nipples so hard, my mouth waters. She gasps, just the faintest sound, but it shreds through me like shrapnel. Her hands land on my shoulders to steady herself, fingers flexing through the cotton of my shirt. My breath stalls as her wide, green eyes meet mine.
She doesn’t pull away.
Neither do I.
“Beautiful,” I breathe, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. My knuckles graze her flushed cheek, and her lips part. “So goddamn beautiful, baby.”
Her gaze dips to my mouth.
“Dangerous,” she murmurs, throat bobbing. “You’re so dangerous to my system, Kade Archer.”
“Why’s that?”
Her tongue glides across her lower lip, eyes still locked on my mouth, and whispers, “I could fall in love with you so easily if I let myself.”
Air stalls in my fuckin’ lungs. She’s drunk, not in her right mind, and asking her questions feels like cheating, but fuck, how can I not?
“Why can’t you let yourself?” I ask, throat dry and tight, fingers trailing across her jaw. She leans into that touch and words slip free before I can stop them. “Why can’t you fall with me?”
“Because…” There’s so much pain in her expression, it guts me. “Because you’ll leave when I let you in. Everyone always does.”
I want to tell her she’s wrong. Wanna promise I’ll be different, that I won’t break her heart, or abandon her, but she’s not in her right mind tonight and I don’t think there’s a damn thing I can say to prove that I’m, thatthis, is different.
Just have to show her.
Sighing, I lean in and press a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Let’s get you home.”
She smiles up at me, but her eyes are glassy, and I don’t think it has a damn thing to do with the liquor. “Don’t forget the fries.”
Chapter Twenty Seven
Gluten for Punishment
Did I eat French fries?
My mouth tastes like them, and something else. Something sweet.
Rolling over, I blink my heavy eyes open slowly. The dark room spins. Not a slow, lazy kind of spin, either. More like someone tied me to the fan and put it on full blast. My heart kicks hard against my ribs, sending panic blooming throughmy chest. I stare up at the ceiling, breath held, trying to place anything familiar.
Nothing comes.
The ceiling’s smooth and pale andnotmine.
Where the hell—?
My fingers curl into the blanket, and I freeze. It's not the quilt from Robin I keep on my rental’s lumpy bed. This one’s soft, heavy, and clean. The sheets beneath me smell like fresh detergent and something warm and masculine… cedarwood, maybe?
Moonlight streams through a window somewhere to my left, slanting across the wall and catching on a polished wood nightstand. The silver drawer handle gleams like it’s brand new.
Definitely not mine.
Oh, God. This isn’t my room.
My stomach flips. Not emotionally.Literally. I jolt upright, and immediately regret it.
Pain claws up my sides, and my stomach lurches like it’s being gripped in a vise. A low whimper escapes me as I slap a hand over my mouth.
