Page 178 of Midnights
He leans back, looking at me.
Oh. Right. Security.He’s working.
“Safe fromwhatexactly?” My voice is quieter than I intend. “Is this place not safe enough?”
“Mostly here to protect people from themselves.” His gaze drops down to my boots, then back up. “Especially with the death traps these women are calling shoes tonight.”
He winks, walking around the fountain. “Honestly, I’m impressed you haven’t ended up headfirst in the fountain yet.”
Without thinking, I flick a handful of water at him. This time, I don’t miss. Water clings to the edge of his sleeve, but he doesn't even flinch.
“Oh, you think you’re hilarious, don’t you?” I try to hide my smile. But his laugh only deepens as he gets closer. I straighten slowly, edging away from the fountain. “Not funny.”
His smirk doesn’t fade for a second. “Oh, I'mhilarious.”
“Well, excuse me for being genuinely curious about who could possibly need that much protection at a party,” I huff, crossing my arms.
His gaze is playful, but still sharp enough to pin me in place. “I know. That’s exactly what made it so funny.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, attempting to brush him off. The light of the moon catches him just right and I lose my train of thought entirely, my breath stalling.
He looks like he was made for this—wrapped in shadow, and carved out of moonlight. Every sharp line of his face belongs here. And of course that damn mask is doing just enough to make him look untouchable.
I catch myself staring at him, knowing I should look away but finding it impossible. That infuriating pull between us only tightens, and it’s beyond annoying, and I silently curse him for it.
The way he’s just standing there, completely still, completely in control, while I’m completely undone is annoying.
No matter how impossibly frustrating he is, no matter how insufferable, I can’t help but wish he’d reach out and touch me again. That he’d drag those rough hands down my body, claim me in a way that leaves no question about what’s been simmering between us since the moment we met.
The ache digs deep, and heat spills into something darker. I squeeze my thighs together, like I can somehow smother the feeling, but it only makes me more aware of the steady pulse of want.
A slow smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You’re staring.”
“Maybe I'm just enjoying the view.” My voice barely above a whisper.Shit. Did I really just say that out loud?The second it leaves my lips, my heart stutters, and every nerve in my body goes tight.
I have no reservations when it comes to him. Even when that honesty leaves me exposed.
His gaze darkens, hunger and amusement coiling together like he’s thoroughly entertained by how easy this is for him. The look he gives me sends a shiver down my spine. He’s watching me unravel, and he’s not even touching me.
Part of me isbeggingmyself to retreat. To go back to the ballroom, to get out of this dangerous game while I still can. But then there’s the other part of me, the wild, reckless side. The side that wants to throw caution to the wind. The defiant, feminine part of me that wants to let him strip me down to nothing, unravel me piece by piece. To see exactly how far he could break me apart.
“We should head back.”
His words cut through the haze like a cold blade, severing the moment so brutally it feels personal. My stomach drops so hard it’s embarrassing.
I blink, dazed, feeling the tension rip away so fast I feel unsteady.
He’s a man. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
His expression remains unreadable as he extends his hand, and I hesitate, feeling the weight of the moment settle over me. He doesn’t move closer, doesn’t pull me in, doesn’t lean down, or brush his lips against my ear.
He doesn’t do a damn thing. And the pang of disappointment that hits me is sharp and unexpected, sinking deep into my stomach, twisting tighter than I care to admit.
I hate him for this.
For knowing exactly what he’s doing and how wrecked I am right now and doing absolutely nothing about it.
But before I can spiral any further, I feel that same warmth creeping across my skin like a slow burn. A tingling, flickering sensation dancing over my palms.
