Page 74 of Icing Hearts

He looks at me and in my wildest dreams I think—hope—he’s going to say my name. Or he’ll say something that’s hurtful to me but intentionally vague toward everyone else.

Instead, he surprises me and says, “Peace”—he checks his phone—“And solitude. Everyone go. Now. Rest up for tomorrow.” He waves his hand. a petulant prince dismissing his subjects.

At first, no one moves. A couple seniors grumble, and Tory levels them with a look. So we slowly rise to our feet without another word.

I’m a few paces away when I hear from behind me, “Clara?”

Chapter 45

Clara

I turn to find his face streaked with boredom and something else I can’t quite place. To my utter shock he says, “Not you. You stay.”

“Why?”

“You are my peace.”

Warmth spreads through my chest, prickling my skin as I sit cross-legged on the edge of the hot tub. I look at the dancing bubbles, the swaying palm trees, a flickering light far down the walkway to the ocean. Anywhere but at Tory, even while I feel his eyes drilling into me. When everyone has cleared out and the echoes of laughter and horseplay fade, he says, “Come in.”

“Excuse me?” I balk.

“You heard me, Clara. Get your ass in here with me.”

“I don’t have my bathing suit on.”

“Do I look concerned?” he drawls.

“But—”

“Feel free to strip down.”

“No.”

Tory sighs. “Charity. I’m not going to ask again.”

“Fine, but I’m not stripping out of anything you little imp.”

My shoes join his and a stack of towels on the concrete edge of the hot tub. Somewhere down the beach the throbbing bass of a song booms out of someone’s car speakers, and I feel it pulse in time with my heart. I seem to have a drumbeat everywhere on my body at the moment. In my ears, my bottom lip, fingertips. All places eager for his caress. Still, I could be dreaming. In the back of my mind, I still doubt his intentions. Doubt the hooded gaze boring through me and the way he sucks in a tight breath through clenched teeth when I rise from the water. My black Henley clings to every curve and divot .

“Let’s play a game.”

“We already played Truth or Dare. That’s what got us in this odd situation you contrived, puppet master.”

“Question Game.”

“Me first. Why do you have a tattoo in my handwriting?”

He shrugs. “You have nice handwriting. Why are you wasting your time with Vince?”

“He’s nice to me. Unlike some people.”

“I prefer the villain character arc. Much more interesting.”

“Where did you even find that quote written in my handwriting? You have to be truthful. It’s a rule.”

“Is it?”

“No answering questions with a question. That’s another rule.”

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