I didn’t answer. Because itwas. And I knew she knew it too.
By the time I came back from answering the door, she was standing near the foot of the bed holding two of my shirts in either hand, one plain black, the other a faded Crow Syndicate crest tee I barely wore anymore.
She looked up when I entered, completely unfazed by the fact she was still topless, and standing in my room like she owned the air.
“Okay.” She raised both shirts. “Which one do you like less?”
I arched a brow. “Why?”
“Because I’m claiming one as myhere shirt,” she said, matter-of-fact. “The one I wear when I’m at your place and don’t feel like pretending I’m not.”
I stepped closer, setting the breakfast tray on the low table at the foot of the bed. “So you plan on coming back?”
She gave me a look. “Vince.”
“What?”
“You literally just told your entire criminal dynasty family to stop contacting you because you were in bed with me,” she shrugged. “I figured that was a sign.”
I huffed out a breath and pointed to the plain black tee. “That one. Less blood risk.”
She smiled. “Perfect.” She folded the other and dropped it back in the drawer, then held the chosen one to her chest like it was sacred. “This is mine now. You’re not allowed to get blood on it. Ever.”
I shrugged. “You can leave a few things here, if you want. Clothes. Whatever.”
When she looked at me again, her expression had changed. Not cold. Just… sharper. Like I’d said something heavier than I meant to.
She gave a soft. “You really don’t date, do you?”
“That’s not something I’d lie about.”
“No,” she said gently. “I don’t think you lie. I think you don’t know the rules.”
I didn’t answer. Mostly because I wasn’t sure which part stung more, the truth in her tone, or the fact that she wasn’t wrong. I moved past her, picked up the tray, and carried it to the bed.
“Come on,” I said, nodding to the sheets. “Eat before you pass out and I have to deal with that drama.”
Her smile and climbed back into bed beside me, sliding on the black tee, that was apparently her here top now. Why did that make me nervous. Or was it excited. We sat back against the headboard, sharing the tray between us. She took the first bite of pancake and moaned. It was wrong, but it went straight to my dick.
“Okay,” she said. “This was the right choice. You’re forgiven for the art gallery.”
I glanced at her. “Wasn’t aware I was still being punished.”
“You were.” She licked syrup from her finger. “But I’m merciful.”
I watched her for a long second, fork resting in my hand. “What would you have done if I hadn’t come after you?”
“I would’ve lied. Told myself it didn’t matter. That I’d imagined it all.”
“And would you have believed it?”
She shook her head once. “No. But it’s easier to live with rejection if you get to pretend you never really wanted it.”
I didn’t say anything. Just reached across the tray and gently hooked my fingers through hers. She let me. That’s right. Fingers. Apparently I’d gone that soft I’d settled for any contact.
We finished the pancakes slowly. She was still wearing my black shirt, sleeves pushed up, collar open just enough to show the slope of her shoulder.
Just pure fucking temptation sitting on my bed.
