A tease, but it shoots heat through me. My grip tightens. She shivers. I feel it in both of us.
I could joke back, but I don’t. Instead, I lean close, breath brushing her ear. “I had a word with Clive earlier.”
She stiffens, brows knitting. “When? What did you do, Nathan?”
“I did what you wanted me to,” I say, searching her warm amber gaze. “Isn’t that why you asked me here? To take him on? To be by your side?”
Her breath hitches, lips parting. Color floods her cheeks. “Yes,” she says softly. “Of course. I just didn’t realize you’d be so… proactive.” She looks around before circling back to my face. “When did you even talk to him?”
“Between the toasts and the dancing.”
I didn’t just talk to him. I made damn sure he understood. That he owed her more than legal stalling and excuses. That she’s not alone anymore.
Jasmine studies me. And something shifts. Not just gratitude. Not surprise.
Hunger.
She looks like she wants to ask me something else. Like maybe she already knows the answer but wants to hear me say it.
And I’m standing here, undone, still pretending I have control.
Sonia’s words crawl back—pining after.
Is that why she’s leaving? Because I’ve been standing still in front of her this whole time and she wants more?
“Are you angry about something, Mr. Grayson?” she asks, her voice light. But there’s nothing casual about the way she presses against me.
I draw her tighter—just enough for her to feel how tense I am. Her breath stutters. Her body molds against mine.
“Is there a reason I should be, Jasmine?” I murmur. “Have you been hiding things from me?”
Chapter 7
Jasmine
The storm rolled in faster than anyone expected.
One minute, we were smiling through goodbyes, lingering at the reception. The next, the wind picked up, the sky cracked open, and rain came down in sheets.
By the time we made it from the car to the hotel entrance—less than a minute—I was soaked through.
Even with Nathan’s jacket draped over my shoulders, I’m shivering. My dress clings like a second skin. Strands of hair stick to my cheek, and my heels slip slightly on the slick tile.
The lobby is packed. People murmur in low, annoyed voices, clustered around suitcases and strollers, shaking out umbrellas or huddling by their phones. But even the bustle can’t drown out my awareness of Nathan—how tightly coiled he seems, how unreadable.
I snap fully back to attention when the woman behind the desk says, “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, sir. Because of the ferry cancellation, we’ve had to reshuffle our bookings. At the moment, we only have one suite available.”
I freeze. My heart jumps—not in panic, but anticipation. I glance at Nathan, expecting him to frown, to protest, to ask if there’s another hotel.
Instead, he nods. Calm. Controlled. “That’ll be fine.”
He takes the key card without hesitation, brushing water from his brow as he pockets it.
Something about him is different. He’s been quiet since the dance floor. Not distant but unreadable, like he’s holding something in.
His face is damp, hair plastered to his scalp, jaw tight. And still, every inch of him radiates intensity.
It does something to me. Sharp. Hot. Helpless.
