Page 29 of The Reaper
I reached for my wine again, trying to cover the way my hand trembled slightly.
He saw it. Didn’t say anything. Just watched.
“You don’t belong here,” I said finally.
He lifted a brow. “No?”
“You’re not a tourist. You’re not a critic. You’re not Charleston society.”
He tilted his head. “And you think that’s a bad thing?”
“No,” I admitted. “I think that’s exactly the problem.”
I pushed my glass aside and stood, needing to move, needing to think.
He rose, too.
I meant to walk past him, to the kitchen. To check something. Anything.
But he caught my wrist as I passed.
Not hard. Not rough.
Just firm enough that I stopped.
“You’re shaking,” he said.
I stared at him. “Because I want something I shouldn’t.”
His thumb brushed my pulse point. “So, take it.”
I inhaled sharply. “I can’t.”
“Because you’re afraid?”
“No. Because if I do, I won’t want to stop.”
His eyes darkened. “Who said anything about stopping?”
Footsteps echoed faintly from the hallway. Finn.
I stepped back quickly as he entered the dining room, pausing mid-stride when he saw us.
He glanced between us. Read the air instantly. “Everything okay?”
I nodded too fast. “Fine.”
Finn’s gaze flicked to Caleb. “You enjoying your evening?”
Caleb gave a short nod. “Immensely.”
Finn’s mouth curved just slightly. “Good.”
He didn’t linger. Just turned back toward the kitchen, and a minute later, I heard him telling the rest of the crew to call it a night.
I looked at Caleb. “You don’t need to stay.”
“I know.”
