“You can’t possibly be serious,” I say. “You want to leave me on this bed all alone?”
I expect him to laugh in that dark way of his, saying gotcha.
But I see it in his eyes.
He actually means it.
There’s no teasing glint, no trace of smugness or mischief. Just this unreadable flatness—like he’s trying to keep something buried under control.
I grip his hand. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Sloane, listen—”
“No, you listen. I’ve obeyed you all evening while you bossed me around like some war general. Now it’s my turn.” I yank his hand, firmer this time. “Get on the f*****g bed, Knox.”
That gets me a smile from him.
“Feisty,” he says. “That was stimulating. Do it again.”
“I’m not playing.” I keep my hand locked around his, not budging. “Don’t turn this into a joke.”
His smile linge
