It’s subtle the way his gaze goes wicked. I don’t know this darker Anton, but from what I’ve seen in other men, I swear his eyes are sayingfuck yeah.
But his mouth doesn’t get the memo.
“If you need someone to get you there safely,” he says, every word measured, “then I’ll make sure you get home.”
He manages to sound noble and tempting all at once, like only he can.
“That’s your version of a yes?” I ask, but my heel slips out from under me again.
I should have worn sneakers.
Just then, Lara appears at my side, her tone playful but sharp. “Alright, Officer Johnson, you’re glowing like a heat lamp.”
I keep my gaze fixed on Anton. “Guess that means it’s time to call it a night.”
“Good idea,” she says, patting my arm. “But you’re not getting yourself home.”
I pick up my purse and nod toward the door, the world spinning just slightly as I move. “Come on, Easton. Help me get home before I decide to start another blackout here and now.”
I snatch my jacket off a bar stool along with my purse and make my way toward the door, fully expecting him to follow.
Outside, cool air hits my face.
The world tilts.
Suddenly, Anton’s arm is firm around my waist, anchoring me as we cross the parking lot.
But the ride is a blur, the hum of the engine isn’t enough to ground me, as somehow, more alcohol continues to catch up with me. Either the hotel is closer than I remember or I fall asleep for a moment, but the car is now parked and Anton opens the door for me, takes me by the hand, and leads me into a way too bright hallway to the stairwell.
The stairs look like a personal challenge I did not train for.
“Easy,” he says, already there when I sway on the first step.
His hand finds my hip.
“I’m fine.”I’m pretty sure I slurred.
I step up again but grab the railing for dear life.
And that’s when he sweeps one arm against the small of my back and the other under my thighs, pulling me into his arms like I weigh nothing.
“I’m too heavy,” I insist, but he makes me feel small in his arms.
“Honey,” he murmurs, “holding you is the easiest thing I’ve done all night.”
He carries me up the stairs effortlessly, as if it costs him nothing at all.
The hallway blurs at the edges; the carpet pattern swims under the dim lights.
Anton finally lowers me to my feet, his hand still hovering at my waist, ready to catch me again.
I fumble for the key card in the tiny purse hooked around my wrist. Of course my fingers turn useless with the man I’ve wanted for months standing right there, solid and distracting.
“I’ve got it,” I mutter—except I don’t. The door keeps shifting when I try to slide the card in.
“You sure?” He laughs softly.
“I’m an officer now,” I remind him, squinting. “I can handle a door.”
