Page 28 of Leave Before I Love You
He must think I won’t notice as he pretends to yawn and stretch like Mr. fucking Magoo, casually blocking my access to the booze.
Oh, hell no.
I hold out my fingers toward him, wiggling them in demand, but he has the audacity to ignore me completely.
“Excuse me,” I snap. “Are you trying to steal my booze?”
He sighs. “I know you’re going to hate this, but I think you’ve probably had enough for tonight. Tomorrow’s another day, and your stomach isn’t exactly full right now.”
“I’m not hungry,” I protest. “You caught that fish earlier, and I had some breadfruit.”
Henry gives me the look. The one that’s equal parts exasperation and amusement, like he knows me better than I know myself.
“Please, Ave?” he says then, his voice lower, softer, almost coaxing. “I don’t want to worry about you tonight.”
I stop short.
Something about the way he says it settles inside my chest. It’s completely unexpected but totally expected at the same time—he’s worried about me.
And for some reason, that makes me feel warm in an entirely different way that the bourbon hasn’t been able to achieve.
Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf or something, but I surprise both myself and him by agreeing. “Fine. I’ll save it. But if we go another week here without getting rescued, I’m downing the rest of the fucking bottle, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
Henry chuckles, shaking his head. “Deal.”
I sigh and fall back into the sand, looking up at the sky, at the endless blackness stretching above us, at the way the stars are scattered across it like diamonds on velvet. “You know, for all the bullshit we’re dealing with, I have to admit… This view is insane.”
Henry tilts his head back, glancing up toward the heavens. “Yeah. I guess it is.”
I shift my body so that I can watch him watch the sky, and my focus trails down to his sharp jawline, the slope of his nose, the cut of his throat.
God, he’s hot.
I press my thighs together, heat burning low in my stomach, a mix of liquor and desire stirring up bad decisions inside me. Good grief, I need to do something with this energy.
“So, what am I supposed to do now?” I question. “I’m not ready to go to bed, and you took away the booze. I’m tired of being bored.”
“We can talk.”
“Ugh,” I gag. “More talking. Talking, talking, talking, it’s all wedothese days.”
Henry laughs. “All right, then. What do you want to do?”
I pause, considering.
Then, the best idea I’ve had in a long time crashes into me like a tidal wave.
I grin at him. “I know!” I say, giddy with inspiration. I sit up straight quickly, and Henry’s eyes flare at the sudden movement. “Let’s have sex!”
“What?”His voice cuts through the quiet night like a gunshot, and I have to laugh at how scandalized he looks.
Henry Callahan—seasoned playboy, known ladies’ man, a guy who has undoubtedly seen more pussy than the ASPCA—is looking atmelike I just suggested we commit a federal crime. It’s like me saying I want to have sex has turned him into a schoolmarm.
I don’t get it.
“What,what? You heard me.” I tilt my head, smirking as I move closer to him, liking the way his throat bobs when I do. “We should have sex. It’d be fun, probably feelreallygood, and would definitely be less boring than sitting here watching you poke a damn fire.” I gesture vaguely to his abs, his broad chest, the way the firelight twinkles against his ridiculously sculpted body. “I mean, look at you. You’rea walking, talking thirst trap. And judging by your track record, I’d say you’ve got enough experience to make it worth my while.”
His brows furrow, like he’s actually offended. “Track record? How many people do you think I’ve slept with?”
