“That’s not?—”
“You wanted proof.”
I stare at him. “That was proof?”
“You think I’d stand there and let someone else win you?”
I open my mouth.
Close it.
The heat in his eyes makes it hard to think.
“This was fake,” I remind him weakly.
He leans closer. “Was it?”
The hallway suddenly feels too small. “You’re making this bigger than it is.”
“No,” he says softly. “You are.”
His hand slides to my waist again. The same possessive grip from the closet. My breath stutters. “Levi…”
“You let them look at you like you were available.”
“I am available.”
His thumb presses slightly harder against my hip.
“Not like that.”
“And how am I available?” I challenge.
He studies me for a long moment.
“Not to them.”
My stomach flips.
The noise from the ballroom swells faintly behind the door.
The world still exists. But in this hallway, it’s just us.
“You don’t get to claim me,” I say, though my voice isn’t as steady as I want it to be.
His jaw tightens. “Maybe I do.”
My breath catches.
“You’re not my boyfriend,” I whisper.
“No,” he agrees. “I’m worse.”
The heat in his voice sends a shiver down my spine.
“Levi,” I say, trying to steady myself, “you can’t just throw money around and act like that solves?—”
“It wasn’t about the money.”
