But I’ve never been particularly smart when it comes toClover Cadell.
“Now…” I say, settling on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb Dracula’s kingdom, “… we figure out what the hell we’re doing.”
She tilts her head, studying me. “I thought we were staying here until it’s safe to go home.”
“That’s the plan. But that’snotwhat I’m talking about…” I tilt my head at her suggestively. “And you know it.”
The words hang between us, heavy with implication. She knowsexactlywhat I’m talking about. This thing that’s been building between us—the way we can’t seem to keep our hands off each other, the way every conversation feels like foreplay and every touch feels like a promise.
“Phoenix…” Her voice is soft, uncertain, and it kills me.
“I know.” I reach out, my fingers finding hers. “I know all the reasons this is complicated. Your brother, the club, the fact that we’re supposed to be lying low instead of—”
“Instead of what?”
Instead of falling for each other.
Instead of wanting things we probably can’t have.
Instead of sitting in a Vegas hotel room looking at each other like we’re both thinking about the bed we’re both currently sitting on, and all the ways we could make use of it.
“Instead of making things more complicated than they already are.”
She’s quiet for a moment, her thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand. It’s such a simple touch, but it sets my every nerve ending on fire.
“What if I want complicated?” she asks finally.
Fuck!
“Clover…”
“What if I’m tired of everyone else deciding what’s best for me? What if I want to make my own choices, even if they’remessy and complicated and probably stupid?”
Her eyes meet mine like she wants to devour me. Like she is choosing me, despite all the very good reasons she shouldn’t.
And God help me, I want to be chosen by her.
I want to be worth the risk.
“If this goes sideways…” I pause, exhaling slowly. “I don’t know if I could come back from it. If I hurt you, if this hurts you, I don’t know how I’d live with that.”
She doesn’t flinch or look away. “Then don’t let it go sideways.”
Her voice is steady. Unapologetic. It’s as if she’s daring me to believe we could actually make it work.
And that’s more terrifying than any pissed-off brother could ever be.
She doesn’t push. Just smiles, knowing I’ll get there in my own time. Then she stretches, standing up, and her shirt lifts just enough to send my brain spiraling again.
“Well…” she chimes, tossing me a grin over her shoulder, “… while you work on your emotional availability, I’m going to shower three days of desert off me.” She grabs her toiletry bag and nods toward Dracula. “Try not to let him order pay-per-view while I’m gone.”
“I make no promises,” I mutter, watching her disappear into the bathroom.
The moment the door shuts and the water starts running, I’m in utter and undeniable hell.
At first, I try to play it cool. Check my phone, pet the cat, scroll through mindless headlines, but nothing works.
My brain is stuck in a loop.
