‘Now that’s out of the way,’ she says. ‘Go get us another round. I’m in the lead!’
I push up from the booth, rolling my shoulders. ‘Aye, Your Highness.’
The barman’s wiping down the counter, and I catch his eye. ‘One gin and tonic. Heavy on the tonic. Or do you have that non-alcoholic stuff?’
He clocks the request, nods, and reaches for the zero-proof bottle tucked behind the proper stuff.
When I set the drink in front of her, Charlie barely glances at it before taking a sip, and another.
She smacks her lips and frowns. ‘Ugh. That’s weak.’
I lean back. ‘Barman’s slacking.’
She scoffs and downs the rest in one go, none the wiser. ‘You’re at least two drinks behind, MacRae.’
That’s not true. But I let her think she’s winning. And I keep her upright.
Because Charlie Harrington deserves to have someone looking out for her for a change.
Charlie stumbles, and I catch her. She’s light in my arms, laughter bubbling up like it’s got nowhere else to go, warm and careless. Her forehead knocks against my shoulder as she tries to straighten up.
‘Woah! Steady, agent.’ My palm finds the small of her back, right where the curve begins.
‘Steady’s boring,’ she mumbles and presses her face into my shirt for half a second before peeling away, blinking up at me.
I don’t think she realises how close we are. How easy it would be to dip my head, let my mouth skim the top of her ear, pull her flush against me. I fight the urge to grab her properly. Not just a hand at her elbow, a palm on her back.
I can’t. I’m not an arsehole.
The dim hallway buzzes around us. The walls are damp with age, the air thick with the smell of old carpet, but all I can focus on is her. The way her body moves and leans against me, as if she trusts me not to let her fall.
I wouldn’t.
She giggles again, high on whatever the fuck it is – alcohol, relief, winning, exhaustion, something else or all of it – and fumbles for her key card in her purse. It clatters to the carpet. I stoop to grab it. She sways forward, knees bumping mine.
‘You’re not as much of a dickhead as I thought, MacRae.’ It tumbles out with a laugh, unfiltered and a touch too honest.
And hell, it hits me right in the ribs before I’ve got a chance to shove the feeling down.
I lean against the doorframe as she swipes the card the wrong way up. ‘That sounded like a compliment, Harrington. Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me.’
She half-turns and looks up at me.
Really looks.
And something in her heavy-lidded gaze slams right through me, blood rushing south so fast I’m dizzy.
I should step back.
Ishould.
But her face is right there. So close that I see where her lipstick has worn off at the edges, the ghost of it still clinging to her plush bottom lip. There’s a flare of something untamed in her eyes. Fierce and fevered. Her breath stutters. Mine stalls. The air between us crackles, swollen with whatever the hell this is turning into.
And I know – I fuckingknow– what’s about to happen before she even moves.
I don’t stop her.
Charlie fists the front of my shirt and kisses me.
