Page 47 of Carry Your Debt

“Don’t,” I lift my shoulders in an exaggerated shrug, “won’t.”

Can’t.

Uncertainty still crowds his expression, but there’s a ghost of a crooked smile when he insists impishly, “But you already broke one of your rules.”

“What rule?”

“About high school boys.”

This guy.

I need to remember that he’s just a mission. That he was just about to have dinner with the Donato twins before being swept in by Sebastian’s bullshit. That in reality, I barely fucking know him—him or his friends.

But there’s just something so innately...familiarabout him. Like when a song comes on the radio that the DJ insists is new, but the melody is one you justknowin your bones that you’ve heard somewhere before.

I’ve been convincing myself it’s just because he’s got the same easygoing personality as Dio, but that niggling itch in the back of my head has got me wanting to ignore all the warnings.

And to keep digging deeper.

So, instead of doing the most logical thing and closing the door right in Hermes’s face, I step back, opening it wide in silent invitation.

At first, he lingers at the threshold, his fingers curling against the doorframe like claws as narrowed eyes bounce between mine. His wickedly handsome face is still painted with all the same misgivings he arrived with. But then I see the moment he makes his decision, and as his resolve begins to solidify, it drives out that lost look completely.

When his arms finally drop back to his sides, his face splits with one of those devilish grins that I’m much more accustomed to seeing there.

It’s almost like watching the sun breaking through the clouds…or some shit.

Oh my god. Who the fuck even am I right now?

It’s just a stupid face on a stupid boy.

A stupidly pretty face that Imaybeenjoyed having trapped between my thighs yesterday.

That’sall.

I need to get a fucking grip.

With his mind made up and confidence restored, Hermes shoulders straight past me, sauntering inside my hotel suite like an insouciant prince and throwing himself down in the middle of my hotel bed. It looks as though his jacket and shoes didn’t make it back with him from the Symposium either.

Lacing his fingers behind his head, the cheeky fucker smirks up at me like he’s won something. He sighs dramatically. “Don’t you ever get tired of always fighting the inevitable, Wifey?”

His words have me bristling, but I’m not eventouchingthat pet name right now.

One battle at a time.

I scowl at him as I stalk back over to the bedside table. It’s ridiculous how fucking hot he looks right now, and he clearly knows it. He takes the opportunity to flex his lower abdomen, sending an answering shudder through my pelvis.

“Move the fuck over,” I grouse, trading my keycard in for my phone. He proceeds to make a show of inching back, deliberately leaving me with only enough room to fit up against him. He crooks his arm and pats the meager space he made just for me.

Asshole.

When he still refuses to move, I’m left with no choice but to lay shoulder-to-shoulder with him on the narrow mattress. As I drop down beside him, Hermes immediately curls himself around me like a cat, nuzzling into my neck.

“Dude,” I huff.

“You love it,” he purrs. Actually fuckingpurrs.

Dio had helped me Houdini my way out of the gown and into one of his huge tees before I shooed him out the door. Now myexposed skin feels volcanic wherever it connects with Miller’s. The velvety ribs of his corset are molded against the forearm that’s trapped between us.

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