I lift one brow. Surprisingly, she recovers.
“You were saying?” She tosses her hair and shoves the glass at me like it’s beneath her.
I smirk, take a drink. “You are something else, Rorie Adams.”
“Fuck yeah, I am. And you’re not as clever as you think, Rhodes.”
“Sure I am.” I push off the railing. “Come with me.”
Her arms cross, suspicious. “Where?”
I tilt my head toward the lounge end of the patio. Lanterns glow across cushioned seating, illuminating everything in a haze of soft light and shadows. The air smells like melting citronella, and something sweet like mango juice left out in the heat.
“You trying to get me alone?” she asks, voice low, a little lazy, a little lethal. Like she’s sizing up a mark.
I shrug. “Figured I’d tempt fate.”
Her gaze traces a calculated path over me—not curious, not impressed, just weighing outcomes. Wonder what kind of worst-case scenarios are playing out in that brilliant brain of hers. Probably best she doesn’t know what’s playing out in mine.
Rorie’s lips curl. “Brave soul, risking going off with someone who fantasizes about your public downfall.”
Stepping closer, her perfume reaches me, jasmine and a darker note that’s going to haunt me later. “You fantasize about me, Adams?”
Her eyes flash, but I catch that tiny bit of awareness. It gives a man ideas.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she says, smooth.
“Too late.” I let the words hang, rough around the edges. “Now I’m stuck picturing what that fantasy looks like.”
She arches a brow. “It ends with you humiliated in front of a live studio audience.”
We’re close enough I feel the warmth of her skin. “Am I naked in this humiliating fantasy of yours?”
She snorts, but her mouth twitches.
I don't let up.
“I guarantee, if I’m naked, the only thing getting ruined is your ability to think straight for the next week.”
Her breath stutters. Just for a second.
“And that,” I murmur, “would be very, very private.”
“Cocky son of a bitch.” Her tongue flicks out, wetting that pouty bottom lip. Then she turns and heads toward the lounge with a sway in her hips that makes my blood buzz.
And I follow.
Because I don’t know if I’m walking into seduction or sabotage.
But I’ve never wanted both more.
The moment we step away from the noise, the city purrs beneath us. Cars crawl along the avenues, neon signs flicker like heartbeat monitors against high-rise glass. The party still pulses behind us, but here, it’s different. Removed. Intimate.
Rorie drifts toward the edge of the terrace, resting her fingers on the wrought-iron railing. The wind lifts her hair in soft waves, tugging loose strands across her cheekbone. She tilts her head back, face tilted to the skyline. She’s stealing this view and storing it somewhere only she’ll ever go.
I watch her longer than I probably should.
Not just because she’s beautiful. There’s something deeper with her. She’s all long lines and blue, fiery eyes, the kind of pretty that kicks you in the chest if you look too long. But it’s more than that.
