I take a sip and close my eyes for a second. “Oh, wow.”
His mouth curves faintly. “Lava Flow cocktail. Everyone loves them.”
I take another drink and nod. “Yep, I can see why. This is easy to get drunk with.” I giggle and lick the droplet on my lip, catching him staring at my mouth again.
He holds his own drink with his large hand—thick, long fingers. I take it all in because I’m weak. The way the shirt pulls across his chest when he leans back, the tendon in his forearm flexing when he lifts the cup. This is not useful information, yet I’m loving every second of it.
“All okay?” I ask, because his attention has shifted again, moving over the crowd.
“I mentioned to a few people to keep an eye out. Anything off or unfamiliar, they let me know.”
“That’s both reassuring and a little terrifying,” I admit truthfully.
His mouth curves, causing small creases at the corners. “You say that as if you don’t enjoy being looked after.”
I lift a brow. “I guess it’s new for me.” I set my drink down. “Thank you. You all took on a whole situation today that you absolutely didn’t ask for, and now I’m here drinking cocktails at a zoo luau while my life is on fire. Also, I’m aware that makes me a very complicated houseguest.”
His expression changes, softening, and catches me off guard. “You’re not a burden, Adelaide.” And then, because apparently this man enjoys ruining my internal organs for sport, he reaches across the table and brushes his fingers over my upturned palm.
It’s sensual, my entire body tingling. His thumb rests there for a moment. “You do this thing.”
I glance down at his hand, then back up. “What?”
“You act like you have to earn kindness before you’re allowed to trust it.”
I blink at him, and I’m lost for words because clearly I’m not the only one watching closely.
He lets my hand go, leans back in his chair, and doesn’t apologize for any of it.
I exhale slowly. “You are much less quiet than I initially thought.”
A real smile pulls at his mouth. “I was being polite at lunch. You were having a rough day, so I didn’t want to crowd you.”
That… isn’t the answer I expected, and somehow it’s worse for the state of my rapidly collapsing self-control. “I’m not sure this version of you is any safer,” I tell him.
“No,” he says easily. “Probably not.”
God.
The torches around us burn brighter as the sun drops lower, throwing gold over his skin and catching in the open collar of his shirt. I shouldn’t be noticing the shape of his throat, the strong line of his forearms resting on the table, or that when he stares at me, he does it as if he’s already decided I’m worth his full attention.
I am, very unfortunately, noticing all of it.
North leans in a little, not enough to crowd me, just enough to make the air feel tighter between us. “Tell me one real thing about you.”
I blink. “That sounds suspiciously intimate for pre-dinner conversation.”
“It’s one thing.”
“You first.”
He nods once. “I hate sleeping in, love early mornings, take my coffee black, and I can’t stand liars. I was sixteen the firsttime when I got stabbed, and I learned pretty quickly after that not to assume anybody’s harmless.”
I blink at him. My fingers tighten around my drink. “Wait, what?”
“I was sixteen.”
“No, I heard the age, North. I’m stuck on the stabbing part.”
