Chapter 3
I lean an elbow on the bar, trying to look casual, trying not to think about how six months of tension just came to a head in thirty breathless seconds.
I might be drunk, but that kiss was no mistake.
“Well,” I say, the word lazy on my tongue, “that was one way to liven up the party.”
A flicker of amusement touches his mouth. “You okay?”
“Better than okay.” I slide a little closer, the bar pressing cool against my hip. “Should we have another drink?” I ask, but I notice he hasn’t even finished his beer.
He chuckles under his breath. “You sure you haven’t had enough?”
“Maybe.” I pin him with my best bedroom eyes. “But it’s been a long time since I let myself have enough of anything.”
His gaze sharpens, and he swipes his giant hand down his mouth as if stopping himself from saying anything. But I know what he’s thinking. He wants me, too. He must.
We flirted so many times on those stakeouts, I’m surprised neither of us caved and fucked right there in his truck. The tension has been there since the first time I saw him.
And I’m leaving tomorrow, so why the hell shouldn’t we?
That’s it.
I’m getting Anton out of my system.
I run my hand along his thigh. It’s steel under my touch.
“I’m serious,” I murmur. “You can’t expect me to celebrate a night like this with just one blackout.” I giggle, but it doesn’t sound like my laugh.
His brow arches. “You’re calling that a celebration? You should raise your standards.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do…” I step even closer to him, wanting to whisper in his ear again, but my heel hooks on something and I stumble.
He catches me and lets out a small rumble of laughter. “You’re dangerous when you’re confident, Freya.”
“Good,” I’m all sass. “About time I was.” Then, before I can overthink, I offer an invitation. “Do you want to go back to my hotel room?”
Even drunk it sounds forward. But this the new me. The woman who takes what she wants.
It’s subtle the way his gaze goes wicked. I don’t know this darker Anton, but from what I’ve seen in other men, I swear his eyes are saying fuck yeah.
But his mouth doesn’t get the memo.
“If you need someone to get you there safely,” he says, every word measured, “then I’ll make sure you get home.”
He manages to sound noble and tempting all at once, like only he can.
“That’s your version of a yes?” I ask, but my heel slips out from under me again.
I should have worn sneakers.
Just then, Lara appears at my side, her tone playful but sharp. “Alright, Officer Johnson, you’re glowing like a heat lamp.”
I keep my gaze fixed on Anton. “Guess that means it’s time to call it a night.”
“Good idea,” she says, patting my arm. “But you’re not getting yourself home.”
I pick up my purse and nod toward the door, the world spinning just slightly as I move. “Come on, Easton. Help me get home before I decide to start another blackout here and now.”
I snatch my jacket off a bar stool along with my purse and make my way toward the door, fully expecting him to follow.
Outside, cool air hits my face.
The world tilts.
Suddenly, Anton’s arm is firm around my waist, anchoring me as we cross the parking lot.
But the ride is a blur, the hum of the engine isn’t enough to ground me, as somehow, more alcohol continues to catch up with me.
Either the hotel is closer than I remember or I fall asleep for a moment, but the car is now parked and Anton opens the door for me, takes me by the hand, and leads me into a way too bright hallway to the stairwell.
The stairs look like a personal challenge I did not train for.
“Easy,” he says, already there when I sway on the first step.
His hand finds my hip.
“I’m fine.” I’m pretty sure I slurred.
I step up again but grab the railing for dear life.
And that’s when he sweeps one arm against the small of my back and the other under my thighs, pulling me into his arms like I weigh nothing.
“I’m too heavy,” I insist, but he makes me feel small in his arms.
“Honey,” he murmurs, “holding you is the easiest thing I’ve done all night.”
He carries me up the stairs effortlessly, as if it costs him nothing at all.
The hallway blurs at the edges; the carpet pattern swims under the dim lights.
Anton finally lowers me to my feet, his hand still hovering at my waist, ready to catch me again.
I fumble for the key card in the tiny purse hooked around my wrist. Of course my fingers turn useless with the man I’ve wanted for months standing right there, solid and distracting.
“I’ve got it,” I mutter—except I don’t. The door keeps shifting when I try to slide the card in.
“You sure?” He laughs softly.
“I’m an officer now,” I remind him, squinting. “I can handle a door.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, one corner of his mouth twitching.
“Why do hotels always make this so hard?”
“Because you’ve had tequila,” he murmurs.
“Excuse me, Easton, are you profiling me?”
He doesn’t answer, just takes the card from my hand. His fingers brush mine, and it feels so good that I actually close my eyes to enjoy it.
He slides the card in the slot.
Green light, click.
“Show-off,” I mumble, pushing the door open and practically falling inside the room.
He leans a shoulder against the frame, the fluorescent hallway light spilling across his face, a shadow catching the line of his jaw.
I drop my bag by the door and toe off my shoes, the room rocking slightly under me.
Anton still stands just inside the door.
I turn to face him, leaning lightly against the dresser. “Are you going to stand there all night, or do I have to arrest you for loitering?”
His gaze flashes with dark amusement. “Not sure which one of us is breaking the law here.”
“Depends on the law,” I say, my hand skimming the strap on my shoulder so it falls.
His hand slides up the door frame like he needs something solid to hold onto.
For one wild second, I think this is it, that we’ll finally crash together, that he’ll take what we’d both been wanting…
Then…my stomach flips.
The warmth that’s been humming through me turns sharp and queasy.
I blink, steadying myself on the dresser. “Ugh…”
He moves quickly toward me. “You alright?”
“Fine,” I say automatically, which is exactly what people say right before they’re not.
His hand is at my elbow. “Time to sit down…”
“I… ” Words die as my stomach talks for me.
I slap a hand over my mouth and bolt for the bathroom.
He’s right behind me as I bend violently over the toilet. He instantly takes my hair into one of his big hands when I lean over.
And my sexy night turns into embarrassment in an instant.
When the wave finally passes, I stand up, eyes watery and probably bloodshot.
“Well,” I rasp, “That was hot.”
He brushes a finger across my cheek. “Still the finest I’ve seen.”
“I doubt that.”
He ushers me to the bed and helps me lie down. He opens one of the bottles of water left on a desk in the room and hands it to me. “Hydrate.”
Even one sip lands sour in my stomach. “How many of these do you think to wash down the embarrassment?”
He smooths hair off my forehead. The pillow feels good beneath me.
“I’ve been there done that, Frey. This is real life. You’re free to live in front of me.”
I sit up, drinking tiny sips, Anton not leaving my side.
Having already humiliated myself, there’s no need for decorum. I slip out of my jeans, keeping my going-out shirt on, and wiggle under the covers. I start to fall asleep, but then I feel the sunken side of the bed lift and I quickly grab his hand.
“Will you stay?” I mumble.
I messed up tonight. But still, I’m not ready for him to leave. I need to say sorry tomorrow when I’m sober and he knows I mean it.
“You got it.” He presses a tender kiss to my forehead. “Now stop thinking about me, and get some sleep.”