Page 20 of Our Chaotic Love Affair

“Shit.” She finally stood, wobbling slightly. “Okay. Going now. Thank you for the therapy session disguised as drinks.”

“Thank you for keeping me company.”

I stood as well, years of gentleman training permanently ingrained.

“I’ll walk you to your room,” I offered.

“I know where my room is.”

“Nevertheless.”

We made our way down the stairs, and I was hyperaware of her presence beside me. When we reached her door, she turned to face me. We were standing in the hallway having what could only be described as a lingering goodbye.

“This was nice,” she said softly. “Unexpected. But nice.”

“Agreed.”

“We should probably never speak of it again. Maintain our mutual antagonism for the sake of consistency.”

“Probably wise.”

But neither of us moved. We just stood there, the air between us charged with something I didn’t quite want to name. Because it kind of felt like I wanted to kiss her.

The realization hit me with surprising force. I wanted to lean down and close the distance between us. Would she melt into me or pull away? What would she taste like?

But I didn’t kiss her. Because she was drunk. We’d barely managed to have one civil conversation, and I wasn’t about to ruin it by pushing too far too fast.

“Goodnight, Cleo.”

“Goodnight, Cash.”

She fumbled with her door handle, finally got it open, and slipped inside. The door closed with a soft click, and I was left standing in the hallway like an idiot.

I made my way back up to my room, my mind spinning with everything that had just happened. Once inside, I changed into sleep pants and fell into bed, but sleep didn’t come. Instead, I lay there with my eyes closed, and my mind wandered to dangerous territory.

I imagined what would have happened if she’d stayed longer. What would have happened if I’d been brave enough to act on that impulse to kiss her?

I imagined her fingers in my hair. Her body pressed against mine. That smart mouth of hers breathless and wanting. The way she would look in my bed, hair spread across my pillows, skin flushed, eyes dark with desire.

I imagined taking my time with her. Learning what made her gasp. What made her arch. What made her say my name like a prayer instead of an insult.

My cock twitched at the thoughts running through my mind.

This was insane. This was Cleo Quinn. The woman who’d spent the last six months finding creative ways to insult me. Who’d called me Captain Crunch and Lurch and a billionaire Neanderthal all in one day.

I was definitely losing my mind.

CHAPTER 8

CLEO

Iwoke up groaning. Then moaning. Then seriously considering whether death might be preferable to whatever was currently happening inside my skull.

I was hungover. Not catastrophically so—I’d definitely had worse—but enough that my head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and my mouth tasted like something had died in it. A headache pulsed behind my eyes in time with my heartbeat. Everything felt puffy. My face, my fingers, my brain. All of it swollen and sluggish.

I could hear the house stirring to life around me. Footsteps on the floor below. Someone laughing. A baby crying. The distant sound of running water. Coffee brewing, if my nose wasn’t deceiving me.

Coffee. Yes. I needed that. Lots of coffee.