Page 42 of Midnight Curfew

“Where?” she asks, oh so interested, because she thinks this is a joke.

But I’m totally serious. It’ll be fun to be the sole focus of her brothers’ attention, piss some people off, and get out of here with someone I don’t have to perform for.

“My dad got me two tickets on a Seabourn cruise,” I state. “I’d like to take you.”

“And let me guess…” She smirks, looking exactly like him for a moment. “There’s only one bed, and you’ll straighten me out?”

But I laugh. “Not likely.” I’m not interested in what’s in her pants. “But you’d get to piss off Clay.”

She looks away, and I think she still doesn’t believe me.

“You’ll be safe,” I tell her. “We’ll get some sun. Relaxation.”

She narrows her eyes on me, no longer laughing.

I lower my voice to a whisper. “I really don’t want to take anyone else.”

Not Milo. Not Vincent. Not Clay.

And certainly not my family.

“A week on a luxury boat with catered meals and eight other guests to be witnesses if I piss you off,” I go on. “And your own cabin with a door that locks. Wanna go?”

She opens her mouth, struggling to find her words and looking like she’s not sure if she should laugh or spit.

She’s not saying no, though.

But before she can answer out loud, I’m shoved from behind, and I stumble a couple of steps, catching myself before I fall.

“Go where?” a man asks in a stern voice.

Straightening my spine, I turn around, coming face-to-face with Dallas Jaeger.

My heart swims in my chest.

I smile, closing the distance between us just before I reach out and push him back. “Afraid she might say yes?” I challenge.

“I’m never afraid for my sister,” he fires back, shoving me again.

My breath catches in my throat, and I let my gaze linger on the golden skin that peeks out from the cut-out sides of his T-shirt. His body…

“She can handle you without breaking a sweat,” he tells me.

Liv tries to reel him in. “Dallas, no.”

But I don’t want her to stop this. A ball of fire grows inside me, making my stomach dip as I right myself. I lift my chin, noticing the patio has gone silent. Everyone watches us, the people in the house crowding around the door and peering out.

I saunter closer to him again. “And what about you?”

He lets me drive him back again, his hard chest under my hands.

“Can you handle me without breaking a sweat?” I taunt.

I don’t think so.

His mouth falls open, drawing in a deep breath as he smiles. “Lucky for you”—his eyes dance—“sweating is my favorite thing.”

He pushes me again, but I vault back into place, daring him. “Keep going.”