I turned to go back inside.
Big mistake.
Suddenly, he was moving—down the gravel walk, fast. I spun around just as he reached me. One arm braced the doorframe above my head. His body caged mine without touching, all heat and rain and bad decisions. I was pressed between damp metal and six feet of stormy-eyed trouble.
His gaze dragged slowly down my face, pausing on my mouth.
Then lower.
My T-shirt clung to me from the rain, my shorts sticking to my thighs. I felt bare under that look. Like he was reading every secret I hadn’t even admitted to myself yet.
His jaw flexed. One fist clenched at his side like he was fighting the urge to touch.
My pulse thundered.
My chin lifted—daring him to kiss me. To try. Again.
He didn’t.
Instead, he reached out and gently brushed a wet strand of hair from my cheek.
“Go get changed, Gitanilla,” he said, voice low. Rough. “Grab your bag.”
“I never said I was going.”
He smiled. Wicked. Unapologetic.
“I’m not leaving without you.”
Despite my protests, I found myself whisked away. We didn’t chat much on the way to wherever he was taking me.
The car slowed in front of massive iron gates, complete with security cameras and stone columns. Beyond them, a long winding driveway sliced through a row of manicured hedges leading to a literal mansion.
I rolled my eyes. “Of course.”
Leo just smirked. “Surprised?”
“I don’t know. I thought you rich types saved your castles for Halloween.”
“Welcome to Tristan’s pad, the Rhode Island edition,” he said.
I arched a brow. “What, he doesn’t have a fleet of luxury vehicles to choose from?”
His jaw ticked, amused but tight. “Not at the moment. His parents are livid. Some model in the Hamptons is claiming the faint pink line on her stick is courtesy of Tristan.”
My head whipped toward him. “Seriously?”
Leo shrugged like it wasn’t the scandal of the week. “Doubtful it’s true. He’s not that dumb. But hewasat a party he wasn’t supposed to be at. Now his dad’s lawyered up, and the whole fleet’s been locked in the garage until the ‘headache goes away.’”
I laughed despite myself. “AndI’mthe one you’re worried will ruin your reputation?”
Before he could respond, Tristan strolled out the front door like he was stepping onto a private runway. Polo shirt. Sunglasses. Annoyed.
He walked straight up to my side of the car and knocked on the window. “Shotgun’s mine, Bryan. Out.”
I unbuckled, already bracing for another round of royaltreatment, when Leo leaned over—fast—to reach across me and yank the door handle first.
His forearm grazed across my chest.
