Page 9 of Carnival Mayhem

I’m going over contracts with Tyson when the door swings open. Colt’s broad frame fills the entrance, but my attention fixes on the small figure behind him. She’s stunning—all golden waves and haunted eyes that catch the light like amber. My pulse quickens as I take in her delicate features and the way she shrinks into herself despite her natural grace.

“Who’s this?” Tyson asks, leaning back in his chair.

“Found her outside the masquerade,” Colt says. “She wants to join us.”

I stand, moving closer. “And does our mystery guest have a name?”

“Flora,” she says, her voice soft but carrying a hint of steel that intrigues me.

“Pleasure to meet you, Flora.” I flash her my most charming smile, which usually has women melting. She meets my gaze briefly before looking away, but that glimpse is enough to see the shadows lurking behind her eyes. “I’m Nash.”

“What can you do?” Tyson asks, direct as always.

Flora shifts her weight, hands twisting together. “I was on the gymnastics team at school. Acrobatics mainly. I’m... I’m good at it.”

My interest spikes. An acrobat. That puts her squarely in my territory—and Colt’s. I circle her slowly, assessing her build. She has the perfect frame for aerial work, light and lithe.

“Is that so?” I stop in front of her. “Any particular specialty?”

“Floor routines. Some aerial work on bars.” She straightens, showing a hint of pride. “I won regional championships three years running.”

“Impressive.” I enjoy the way her cheeks flush at the husky tone of my voice. “We might be able to work with that.” I glance at Colt. “Did Colt mention he’s an acrobat too?” I keep my voice light, testing her reaction.

She shakes her head, gaze darting between us. The tension in her shoulders speaks volumes.

I reach out, trailing my fingers along her arm. She flinches hard, stumbling back into Colt’s chest.

Interesting.My lips curve into a cold smile as I step closer, invading her space.

“That’s going to be a problem, isn’t it?” I tilt my head to the side. “How do you expect to perform if you can’t even handle a simple touch?”

Her breath catches. “I-I can handle it during routines. It’s different then.”

“Is it?” I step toward her, close enough that she must feel my breath on her face. “Because acrobatics requires absolute trust. Complete surrender to your partner’s guidance. Their hands will be all over you, supporting, lifting, catching.”

She trembles but holds her ground. “I understand that.”

“Do you?” I move to face her again. “Because you look ready to bolt if I brush against you. That won’t work here. One momentof hesitation, one flinch at the wrong time, and you could get yourself—or your partner—seriously injured.”

Her fingers curl into fists at her sides. “I said I can handle it.”

“Prove it.” I hold out my hand, palm up. A simple challenge, but her wide eyes suggest it might as well be a mountain to climb.

“Back off, Nash.” Colt’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and commanding. His hand settles on Flora’s shoulder, and for once, she doesn’t flinch away. “She can start with solo routines if that works better.”

I raise an eyebrow, studying my partner’s face. In all our years together, I’ve never seen that protective edge in his eyes—not for anyone outside our inner circle. Yet here he stands, practically shielding this girl from me.

“Solo routines?” I keep my voice neutral, though my mind races with this new development. “That’s not what brings in the crowds, and you know it.”

“She needs time to adjust,” Colt argues, his thumb absently stroking her shoulder. He doesn’t even seem aware he’s doing it. “We can work up to partner acts.”

I lean against Tyson’s desk, fascinated by this unexpected display. Colt, who barely spares a glance at the women who throw themselves at him after shows, is actually invested in this one. The way his body curves toward her and his eyes track her every subtle movement is all so wonderfully unlike him.

“Whatever you think is best,” I concede, more interested in watching this unfold than pushing the issue. “Though I have to wonder why you’re so invested in her success.”

Colt’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he guides Flora closer to Tyson’s desk, his hand never leaving her shoulder. “She’s got potential. That’s all.”

That’s all, indeed. I hide my smirk, catching Ty’s knowing look. We both see right through him. The mighty Colt, undone by a frightened little bird. How deliciously unexpected.

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