Indecision gnawed at me.
I looked back at Austin just in time to catch him glance over his shoulder, his eyes finding mine like a magnet. He smiled—easy, crooked, devastating—and raised a hand in a lazy wave.
I called out to my sister and pinned her with a pointed look when she turned around. “She has to be in bed by nine.”
Elodie let out a triumphant squeal before giving me a playful salute. “Yes, Mother.”
When I sneaked another glance at Austin, that flutter in my stomach turned into a full-blown tumble.
The doorto the Lantern swung shut behind me, muffling the night chill and wrapping me in the cozy haze of spiced whiskey and warm vanilla. Laughter rippled from the bar, the low hum of conversation blending with the strum of a guitar drifting from the corner stage. Light flickered off warm wood accents and glass bottles behind the bar, casting the whole place in a honeyed glow. My shoes clicked against the worn wood floors as I scanned the crowd, nerves prickling like static beneath my skin.
I paused just inside the door, tugging at the hem of my fitted sweater as my eyes swept the room. It wasn’t packed, but the midweek crowd had staked their claims—regulars hunched over pool tables, couples tucked into booths, groups laughing a little too loudly over pitchers of beer.
My attention immediately snagged on Austin.
He was leaning casually against the bar, one ankle crossed over the other, a glass of something dark in his hand. His head tilted as soon as he saw me, and the grin that curved his mouth hit me square in the chest.
“Well, well,” he said as I made my way over, his voice low enough to slide like warm honey along my spine. “Fancy meeting you here, gorgeous. You out trolling for tall, devastatingly handsome contractor-slash-nannies?”
I raised a brow, playing along as my nerves fluttered beneath my skin. “Just hoping one will buy me dinner. Or at least get me drunk enough to forget my responsibilities.”
Austin chuckled, the sound deep and wicked. “I don’t know about dinner in this place, but I’ve got your drinks covered.” He slid a glass toward me—rich red wine, just the way I liked it.
I took it, our fingers brushing in the exchange. “What if I’m picky about my company?”
His grin sharpened as his eyes skimmed over me, slow and unhurried. “You’re not. At least not when it comes to me.”
Heat pooled in my stomach.
The warmth of Austin’s palm pressed into the small of my back, steady and grounding, as we shifted to make room for another couple squeezing past. His touch wasn’t possessive in a loud, obnoxious way—it was quiet. Steady. Like he didn’t even think about doing it, like his hand had been made to rest there. What once was a tiny voice nagging me that I was too old to be with him strangely morphed into a proud, confident woman.
Austin was hot as hell and his hands were onme.
The Lantern’s lighting seemed to cling to him, highlighting the rough line of his jaw, the faint scar on his chin I’d never asked about, the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders like it resented the effort.
“You’re staring,” he murmured, leaning in close enough that his breath stirred the fine hairs at my temple.
“Am not,” I said too quickly as I smothered my smile with a sip of wine.
“Sure, Selene. Keep lying to yourself.” His palm pressed a little firmer against my back. “But if you keep looking at me likethat, I’m gonna start thinking you want me to drag you out of here.”
My breath hitched, and I felt brave. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re hot. Maybe I just like looking.”
“You know what I like?” He leaned in closer so only I could hear. “I like knowing every man in this room is wondering what it feels like to have you writhing under him.” His voice was sinful now, meant only for me. “And only I fucking know.”
My knees went weak, and it was unreal how easily he could do that—how effortlessly he unraveled me with words alone.
Before I could respond, the strum of a slower song bled through the speakers, soft and bluesy. Austin’s hand slid from my back to my waist, his fingers curling around my hip as he turned me toward the small dance floor.
“Dance with me,” he said, not really asking.
I let him lead me onto the floor, my hand slipping into his as the music wrapped around us. He pulled me close—closer than was strictly appropriate for the public—and swayed us into an easy rhythm.
“See?” he murmured near my ear. “We’re already the center of attention.”
I risked a glance around, and sure enough, a few heads had turned. Small-town curiosity at its finest. But it wasn’t the judgment I felt—it was hunger. The kind in Austin’s touch, the way his thumbs brushed small, claiming circles over my hips. The way his eyes never left mine.
“You like showing me off,” I said, my voice quieter than I meant.
