Page 54 of Tempted By Eden

God, of course he knows.

He turns back to the officer he’s speaking with, nodding curtly. Even while he’s focused on the conversation, his gaze flicks to me every few moments, keeping me pinned. I can’t look at him any longer—I’m too mortified. I drop my eyes to the floor, my cheeks burning.

This is rock bottom.

After what I’m now referring to as “spew-gate,” the officer—Carl—woke up Hailee and escorted us both to his patrol car. Hailee had apologized profusely, sobbing in the backseat, but I was too sick and too humiliated to care. I just wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

At the station, Carl handed me a breathalyzer, and I held my breath, praying. When the number blinked just under the legal limit, relief hit me so hard I almost staggered. I’d been stupid, reckless—if I hadn’t thrown up, I’d probably be in a cell right now, facing charges, maybe even losing my license.

Instead, I got a warning. Extremely lucky, considering how it could have turned out. I shouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel in that state. It was dangerous and stupid. I promised myself I’d be better, that I’d make smarter choices, yet here I am, sitting in a police station at three in the morning, waiting to be picked up like a reckless teenager. Shame curls inside me. It’s not just about the vomiting or the breathalyzer. It’s about how easily I could’ve lost everything—my freedom, my safety, my son. I can’t let this happen again. I can’t keep making stupid, reckless decisions like this. Leo deserves better. I deserve better.

James finishes his conversation and stalks toward me. He looks as polished as ever, despite the early hour and the fact that he’s still wearing his suit from earlier. He stops directly in front of me, towering over me, forcing me to tilt my head back. He runs his thumb over his bottom lip and studies my face. He’s slipped his mask back on, but the frustration and disappointment that flares in his eyes is hard to miss. Whether that’s from earlier in the evening or from now, I don’t know. Take your pick.

“Come on, let’s go.” Without sparing me another glance, he turns and walks toward the exit, expecting me to follow.

I jump to my feet, irritation simmering under my skin. His cold indifference is starting to piss me off. By the time we reach his car, I can’t hold back anymore.

“Get in,” he says.

“No.” I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to budge.

James freezes, his hand on the passenger door handle. He turns slowly, his eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

“I know I asked the officers to call you,” I say, “and I’m grateful that you came. But I’m not a child, and I won’t be treated like one.” The words spill out faster than I expect.

His face clouds over. “Well, stop acting like one.”

The sharpness of his retort slices through me, but I hold my ground. “I screwed up, okay?! I made a mistake, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat me like an idiot!” I plant my hands on my hips, only just containing the urge to tap my foot like a petulant child.

His eyes blaze, anger finally breaking through his icy exterior. He steps closer, his body practically vibrating with fury. “An idiot? Youarean idiot!” he bites back, his voice rising with each word. “You could’ve killed someone! Or worse,youcould’ve been killed!”

His hands grip my upper arms, like he’s going to shake some sense into me. “You could’ve been hurt, Cora. Do you understand that?” His voice breaks on the last word, and for a moment, the emotion on his face is raw and unfiltered.

“When the officer called and asked if I knew a Cora Rossi,” he says, quieter now, almost broken, “I—I just…” He trails off, lowering his head, his grip loosening. His vulnerability is breaking my heart.

God, he’s right. I’m such an idiot.

“Please, Cora.” He lifts his head, not quite meeting my eyes. “Just get in the car.”

I nod, my throat too tight to speak, and slip into the passenger seat.

The car door slams behind me, making me flinch. James stalks around to the driver’s side and slides in without a word, the leather creaking beneath his weight. His knuckles turn white as they clamp down on the steering wheel like he’s trying to crush it. The air in the car is thick, silence pressing in on us as Sydney’s streets race past the window. I notice we’re heading toward my neighborhood, but I don’t dare ask how he knows my address.

Finally, when we’re a block away from my house, he breaks the silence, making me jump in my seat. “Do you have a problem with alcohol?”

“What?” I whip my head around to look at him. He’s serious. Deadly serious. “No! Of course not.” I scoff, but the accusation stings. Sure, I like to let loose once in a while, but I’ve never beenthisdrunk or sick from alcohol before. Never. His words from five years ago bubble to the surface:I don’t fuck drunk chicks.

James says nothing, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. His grip on the steering wheel remains firm, his jaw clenched tight. The silence stretches between us and I gaze at him again, studying the hard lines of his face.

He’s so gorgeous.

Even now, it’s impossible to ignore. That strong jawline, those sharp cheekbones—they’re almost unreal, like they were sculpted with precision.

When we pull up outside my house, he still won’t look at me. He sits there, staring straight ahead, his entire body rigid. I wait for him to say something—anything, really—but he doesn’t.

I sigh heavily; talking to him right now is pointless. With a huff, I open the car door and slam it shut behind me. I don’t look back as I walk up to my front door. I hear his car drive away as soon as I step inside.

I slump against the door, close my eyes, and shake my head at my stupidity.

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