Elodie’s POV
Another sharp knock rattles the wood behind me, more urgent this time.
'Elodie?' a light, polite voice calls out from the corridor. 'Are you in there? The party is over, and a certain someone is getting a bit sleepy!'
The haze of heat, bourbon, and seven years of bottled up grief shatters in an instant.
My eyes snap wide open. Panic, cold and sharp, floods my veins. I plant both hands flat against Beckett’s broad chest and shove him back with every ounce of strength I possess.
He stumbles backward, his leather shoes squeaking loudly against the carpet as he catches his balance, blinking heavily as if coming out of a trance. His dark hair is wild, his lips swollen, and his eyes bloodshot, completely dazed as he stares at me.
'Stay there. Don't say a word,' I whisper harsh
