She does not say it.
Instead she whispers, “You’re engaged.”
“Say you want me to walk away,” I say, and my voice is a knife. “Say it and I do.”
Her eyes flash. Her throat works.
She cannot.
That is the only truth that matters.
Before I can take it further, a new wave of noise erupts downstairs. Someone shouts my name across the floor.
I freeze.
She freezes.
Her chest heaves. My hands are still on her. My thigh is still between hers. Her coconut scent is all over me like a confession.
I force myself to step back.
The move is physical pain.
Darling’s eyes stay locked on mine, wild and furious and wanting. I drag my thumb across her lower lip, slow, and watch her mouth part on instinct. Then I drop my hand.
I glance toward the balcony window.
And standing above the crowd on the other side is Carmen. She leans against the railing with perfect posture, dark hair catching neon like a crown. Calm. Observant. Watching. Of course she is. She doesn’t look jealous. She looks like she’s doing math.
That’s worse.
“She knows,” Darling says quietly behind me, and there’s something bitter in it now, something old.
I drag my attention away from the balcony and back to her.
“She knows what?” Carmen can’t see in here.
“That you still want me.”
I stare at her.
“Want ain’t the word.”
“Then what is?”
Mine.
The answer sits on my tongue, heavy and dangerous.
Instead I step forward and grab her hips again. This time it is not just desire. It is a message.
My hands fit there like they’ve always belonged there.
She inhales sharply when my fingers tighten.
“You think I didn’t hate myself for sending you away?” I ask. “You think I didn’t walk through every damn bar in Little Havana looking for you, like a desperate idiot, asking the wrong people, risking my patch just to see if you were alive?”
Her eyes flicker.
