“Oh, c’mon,” I groan, glaring down at the spreading wet patch like it intentionally betrayed me.
Before I can do anything about it, Klaus is already there. “Hold still,” he murmurs, stepping into my space without reserve. His fingers ghost along the low neckline of my dress, dabbing lightly at the spill with a cocktail napkin he must’ve snagged from the top of the minibar. There’s nothing innocent about the way his knuckles brush my skin, though.
My breath catches.
His eyes flick up to meet mine.
Everything inside me pulls tight, more still when his voice drops into that warm timbre that flows like liquid heat through my veins. “Good to know I can still make you nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” I retort.
Behind us, Nick clears his throat, a reminder he’s still very much here and we’re not alone. The sound shouldn’t affect me the way it does, but it zips down my spine at lightning speed. Flicking my stare his way, I find him still on the bed, champagne in hand, his gaze locked on me and Klaus—steady, heavy, assessing.
Not jealous in any capacity—he never is—but definitely not unaffected, either.
All the while, Klaus continues blotting the spill, his fingers trailing just low enough to make me squeeze my thighs together, an audible gasp slipping past my lips.
“You okay?” he questions, a hushed chuckle tacked onto the end.
No.
Absolutely not.
But I hit him with a strangled, “Fine.”
“You’re flushed,” he points out, to which I hitch a shoulder in the most blasé way I can manage..
“It’s the champagne.”
“Is it, though?” Nick’s voice rolls closer now, low and smooth. “Or is it something else?”
I’m about to answer, about to reiterate the fact I’ve had too much to drink on an empty stomach, when a warm set of lips skate along my skin—from the curve of my neck to the ball of my shoulder.
“You smell better than I remembered, kitty kat,” Klaus hums as he threads a hand in my hair and tugs.
Not as hard as I normally like, but enough to draw forth the softest moan. “This isn’t talking,” I remind him. “So far from it.”
“I thought we were pretty much done.”
“I have to agree,” Nick concedes, and though I clocked his voice to be at close range, I wasn’t expecting to feel him behind me.
Goosebumps break out along my skin, my knees actually wobbling this time. I’d blame the heels, or the alcohol, but that would be the most unbelievable thing I’ve said—second to my resolution.
It’s justthem.
The effect they have on me.
My pulse hammers as their warmth envelopes me. It would be so easy—so stupidly easy—to let myself fall into the pull of them, to forget every fear and question and consequence waiting outside this dimly lit room. But the moment I feel Nick’s fingertips graze my waist and Klaus’s lips skim back up my neck, something snaps inside me.
“No,” I whisper, though it sounds like a plea. “We…we can’t do this.”
Klaus stills first, his hand tightening slightly in my hair before he releases it altogether. Nick goes still against my back, the weight of his stare searing into the side of my face as I pull myself upright.
I force myself to step away from them—barely a foot—but it might as well be miles, and lift my chin. “We need to talk.”
Nick’s jaw flexes, blue eyes narrowing just a fraction. “About?”
“Everything,” I say. “I still want answers and like you said, you deserve some some as well.”
