Page 63 of Heat Island
“I know you can,” I say, keeping my arm firmly around her waist. “But humor me.”
As we navigate the flat stone pathway, I find myself breathing in her scent. It’s still hard to pick out the exact notes, but I’m sure now I’m picking up the sweetness of cranberry, now mingled with whiskey. She stumbles slightly on the top step outside our door, and I catch her against my chest.
For a moment, we’re perfectly still, her face tilted up toward mine, lips parted slightly. I could kiss her. Part of me—most of me—wants to.
Instead, I guide her through the door and toward the bedroom.
“Let me help you to bed,” I say softly. “You need to sleep this off.”
Trinity gives me a look that’s half grateful, half disappointed. “You’re too good, Matheo. It’s annoying.”
I laugh despite myself. “I’ve been called worse things.”
As I help her remove her shoes and pull back the covers, I realize that for the first time in years, I want to be worthy of someone’s trust. Of her trust.
It takes a special sort of effort to ignore her grasping hands and whimpering pleas as I strip off her dress and help her into the flimsy nightgown I find tossed over a chair in the living room.
Fuck, this girl is going to kill me.
“I’ll be back later,” I tell her, brushing hair from her forehead. “Get some rest.”
She catches my hand, her expression shifting to playfulness. “What if I don’t want you to be good?”
Before I can process her words, Trinity wraps her arms around my neck and yanks me down with surprising strength. I topple forward, catching myself on my forearmsto avoid crushing her. Her lips find mine in the same instant, and the taste of her—whiskey, sweetness, and something else uniquely Trinity—explodes through me like a supernova.
Her curves settle perfectly against my body, soft where I’m hard, yielding where I’m firm. Every instinct screams at me to press deeper, to claim what she’s offering so freely. Her tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open to her, groaning as she arches beneath me.
With monumental effort, I break the kiss, pulling back just enough to see her face. Her pupils are blown wide, lips swollen, cheeks flushed with desire and alcohol.
“Trinity,” I manage, my voice a ragged whisper. “We shouldn’t.”
She responds by rolling her hips against mine, and I can’t suppress the growl that rumbles from my chest. Her smile turns knowing as she feels my obvious arousal.
“Liar, liar, knot on fire.” Her fingers tangle in my hair, trying to pull me back down. “I feel how much you want me.”
I capture her wrists gently, pinning them beside her head. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?” She looks up at me, confusion and hurt flickering across her features. “I’m literally throwing myself at you, and you’re saying no?”
“I’m saying not like this.” I release her wrists and shift my weight to sit on the edge of the bed. “Not when you’ve had too much to drink.”
Trinity sits up, the sheets pooling around her waist. “I’m not that drunk.”
“Drunk enough that you might regret this in the morning.”
She stares at me for a long moment, then looks away. “So this is rejection. Again.”
The pain in her voice slices through me. I turn to face her, taking her hands in mine.
“Look at me.” I wait until those incredible hazel eyes meet mine. “This isn’t rejection. Do you have any idea how badly I want you right now? Every alpha instinct I have is screaming at me to throw all my values out the window and take what you’re offering.”
Her expression softens slightly. “Then why don’t you?”
“Because I don’t want you to ever regret anything that happens between us.” I brush my thumb across her knuckles. “I want you to remember every touch, every kiss, every moment—not wonder what happened through an alcohol haze.”
Trinity studies my face, searching for something. Whatever she finds seems to satisfy her, because the tension in her shoulders eases.
“So if I wake up tomorrow completely sober and I still want this? Want you?” she says slowly. “What then?”
