“One more logistics thing.”
I groan. “So fucking sexy.”
That smile appears again. He moves closer, his mouth barely touching my ear. “You think you can be quiet?”
I gasp, and the question hangs between us like it’s carrying extra weight. My pulse jumps so fast I’m sure he can hear it.
I lean back against the counter, casual on the outside, pure electricity on the inside. “Depends. Are you planning to test me?”
His gaze flicks down my body before returning to my face, so quick it could be an accident if he wanted to lie about it. “Just wondering how much trouble we’d get into before someone opened that door.”
The hum of the refrigerator fills the space where my answer should go. My brain is doing dangerous math—distance to the door, volume of the group outside, how easy it would be to close that space between us.
“You’re terrible,” I say finally, but it comes out low, not even close to an accusation.
He tilts his head like he’s considering it. “Maybe.” Then, quieter: “But I’d behave. For now.”
I laugh, softer than I mean to, because I believe him and also don’t. “Good. Because I have a strict no-being-caught-in-the-kitchen rule.”
“Sounds like a challenge,” he murmurs, stepping aside so I can pass.
When I do, my shoulder brushes his chest, light and intentional. His hand lifts and catches my waist, pulling me back against him in one smooth motion.
My inhale is sharp, unplanned. His chest is solid at my back, his palm warm through the thin fabric of my shirt. I can feel the heat of him everywhere he touches me and in places he doesn’t.
“Connor.” It comes out more breath than word.
“I love how you say my name.” He dips his head, close enough that I can feel the whisper of his breath at my ear again, warm and electrifying. “Still think you could be quiet?”
My brain short-circuits. I don’t turn to face him because I don’t trust what I could do if I look at his handsome face.
“Guess we’ll never know,” I say, forcing lightness into my tone that doesn’t match the way my heart is hammering inside my chest.
His hand lingers long enough to make it clear he’s in no hurry, and then he lets go, fingers dragging lightly over my hip before he steps back. The absence is absolutely dizzying.
I push through the door, cheeks hot, and rejoin the noise outside. But I feel him behind me for a long time after, that smile still pressed against the back of my neck.
16
CONNOR
The villa’sfinally quieting down after a long night of card games, more drinks than I can count with both hands, and copious amounts of local chocolate. Laughter finally thins to a low murmur behind closed doors and the clink of glasses against marble countertops.
I’ve been lying on top of the covers on my bed, staring at the ceiling long enough to know sleep’s not happening tonight. Just like eighty percent of the nights the past few months. My phone is face-down on the nightstand, buzzing every so often with the reminders I keep ignoring—two missed calls and three texts from my parents, all variations ofcall us backordon’t forget to meet with so-and-so in Zurich before the wedding—their most recent attempt to line up a bigger and better job offer that will give me a bigger and better status.
I can’t. Not right now. I’ll see them in a few days at the wedding, and we’ll go through the usual performance—me nodding, them criticizing, everyone pretending that being passive-aggressive is something normal. For now, I want quiet.
From my window I can see the edge of the pool—flat and dark except for the soft blue wash from the lights. And her.
Manuela is on a lounger, legs stretched long, a towel under her and her hair down from that messy bun she was wearing after dinner. Someone left three stubby candles on the little table; they gutter and throw short shadows across her calves. She tips her head back and exhales like she’s trying to breathe the day out.
Like finally being alone relaxes her. It’s worse now, I think, the way her body betrays her and gives all the signs of her being uncomfortable. She’s been the same way since I met her at the engagement party—sitting at the edge of the conversation and simply watching, a polite smile slapped on her face.
I tell myself I’m going down for water. My feet already know better.
The deck is warm through my socks. I keep it casual—hands in pockets, slow steps.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I say.
