Page 14 of Silver Fox Puck

I stand, careful not to make a sound as I slip my dress over my head. No time to zip it up yet. Shoes in hand, I move toward the door. Every step is controlled, my breath locked in my chest, my grip tightening around the handle.

Don’t look back. Almost there.

Then—just as my hand grazes the doorknob, just as I prepare to slip out without a word—

A low, sleep-rough voice rumbles behind me.

“Leaving so soon, Flight?”

Hits me in the chest like a slow drag of whiskey.

Damn it. I freeze. Hand locked around the door handle. Barely breathing.

Wait, Flight? Does he know about… my job? Or is it just that I’m trying to flee from this moment?

I don’t overthink it. Or the way that the nickname makes my heart flutter.

His voice—slow and lazy in a way that shouldn’t make my stomach tighten but does—envelopes me, making me shiver.

I should turn around and say something snarky in reply, not just stand here like a damn deer in headlights.

Instead, I exhale, force my pulse to settle, and settle for a glance over my shoulder.

He’s still in bed, one muscled arm tucked behind his head, watching me with a look I can’t quite read. His dark eyes—heavy-lidded from sleep but sharp enough to pin me in place—drift down, taking in the fact that I’m half-dressed, shoes clutched in my hand, zipper still undone.

Busted mid-flight. I feel heat warm my cheeks.

I clear my throat, keeping my voice as casual as possible. “That was the deal, wasn’t it?”

His expression doesn’t change, but something in his gaze flickers. Not surprise. Not disappointment. Just… something unreadable.

Slowly, he shifts, rolling onto his side, propping his head up on his hand. The movement is unhurried, controlled—like he already knows I’m running from more than just him.

“Didn’t peg you for the type to sneak out.”

I arch a brow, tossing my head. “I prefer to call it an efficient exit.”

His lips twitch. Barely. “Is that what this is?”

A slow heat prickles under my skin. “It’s exactly what this is.”

I turn back toward the door, but before I can twist the door handle—

“Kenzie.”

My heart slams into my ribs. What the hell?

No. No, that’s not—

I inhale sharply, forcing myself to keep my expression neutral, to ignore the way my name sounds in his mouth when he wasn’t supposed to know it.

I narrow my eyes, turning toward him slightly. “We agreed. No names.”

He doesn’t look guilty. Doesn’t look like he regrets breaking the one rule we set.

He just studies me, slow and deliberate, like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do with this.

“Did we?”

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