Page 10 of Carnival Mayhem

I watch as Ty’s eyes flick between us. “You two, outside. Now.”

Flora’s shoulders tense, but Colt nods reassuringly before we step out into the crisp night air. The moment the door closes, I turn to him with a smirk.

“Well, well. Never thought I’d see the day. The mighty Colt, brought low by a pretty broken doll.”

“Don’t be an ass,” he growls.

“What? It’s adorable, really.” I lean against the trailer wall. “How you’re hovering over her like a mother hen. Though, I have to say, if you’re not actually interested...” I let the sentence hang, enjoying the way his jaw clenches. “Because she is fucking hot. Noticed that the moment she walked in.”

Colt’s hand shoots out, gripping my shirt. “Back off, Nash. She’s been through trauma. I can see it in her eyes.”

“And?” I raise an eyebrow, not fighting his grip. “Maybe that’s exactly what makes her interesting. All that fear just waiting to be?—”

“I said back off.” His fingers tighten in my shirt. The muscle in his jaw jumps, and I can feel the tension radiating off him.

I lean into his grip. “Or maybe... I’m exactly what she needs.” My voice drops lower, intimate. “Someone who understands that kind of darkness. Someone who knows how to make it beautiful.”

Colt’s fingers flex in my shirt, but the white-hot rage in his eyes shifts to something else.

“Or better yet,” I continue, watching his reaction carefully, “maybe she needs both of us. Your protection...” I let my gaze drift to his mouth. “My control. Think about it, Colt. How perfect she’d be, caught between us.”

His nostrils flare subtly, but his grip loosens just slightly. There it is—that flash of desire I’ve been waiting for. His pupils dilate, and I can practically see the image I’ve painted playing behind his eyes.

“The three of us. Together.”

The rage drains from his face, replaced by something darker, sexier, and hungrier. He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. I can read his body’s response and how his breathing changes.

“That’s what I thought.” I reach up, wrapping my fingers around his wrist where he still holds my shirt. His pulse races under my touch.

I let my fingers linger on his wrist. Ten years we’ve worked together, and I’ve never missed the way his eyes follow me during practice, how his breath catches when we’re spotting each other on the silks. The tension between us has always simmered just below the surface.

I’ve seen him checking out other guys at the carnival, too—quick glances when he thinks no one’s watching.

Sometimes, I wonder if he’s afraid—of what others might think, of what it could mean for our partnership. Or maybe he’s just not interested in me that way. But the heat in his eyes right now tells a different story.

His grip on my shirt loosens further, but he doesn’t step back. I can feel the warmth of his breath and count every freckle scattered across his nose. If I moved just an inch closer...

But I don’t. I never do. That’s our dance—always on the edge, never crossing the line. Even now, with desire practically radiating off him, I know he’ll pull away. He always does.

Right on cue, he releases my shirt and takes a step back. The mask slips back into place, but I catch that flash of want in his eyes. It’s enough to keep me hoping, waiting for the day he finally admits what we both know.

“She couldn’t handle both of us,” Colt says with a forced laugh. “Come on, Nash. Look at her. She’s like a scared rabbit.”

I push off from the trailer wall, studying his face. “That’s where you’re wrong.” The image of Flora’s eyes flashes in my mind—that steel beneath the fear, how she stood her ground even when I pushed. “There’s more to her than that.”

“You saw how she flinched,” he argues.

“I saw a survivor.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “Did you notice how she tensed when I mentioned trust? That’s not just ordinary stage fright. Someone hurt her, badly.” My fingers brush his chest. “But she’s still here, isn’t she? Still fighting. Still wanting to perform despite everything.”

Colt’s breath catches. “Nash?—”

“And when you touched her?” I continue. “She didn’t pull away. She trusted you instantly. That’s rare for someone with her kind of trauma.”

He swallows hard. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that little bird in there?” I gesture toward Tyson’s trailer. “She’s got fire underneath all that fear. The kind that burns hot enough to consume us if we let it.”

“You don’t know that.”

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