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The corner of my mouth lifts. “You’re saying I should keep it on the down-low?”

“Yes, be discreet. I know rich men are so often excused of their dalliances, especially those shackled to tedious, old money, Upper East Side wives. But I imagine in the early stages of our marriage, that wouldn’t be a good look for you.”

I lean forward with a dark chuckle and thread my fingers together as I give a disbelieving shake of my head. “No one would ever call you boring, Clara,” I say. “You’re more like an aneurysm in the making.”

Or the woman staging a hostile takeover of my life.

Chapter 12

Troy

Past

The climb is harder than I expected. Not because the trellis is unstable—it is—but because halfway up I realize how insane this idea is. Two stories of roses and wood between me and the gravel. One misstep, and I’m explaining to an emergency room doctor why I thought this was a reasonable plan.

Then explaining it to my mom. Clara’s father. Then the police.

Still, I keep climbing. Because the alternative is going home and pretending I didn’t spend the entire evening thinking about kissing Clara earlier. A stolen moment in the boathouse, her skin luminescent in the setting sun. She would’ve let me fuck her, I know it. Right there on the old rickety table, splinters and all. But the first time we do this, I want to do it right.

“Jesus.” I should’ve brought gloves. My palms are gonna be ripped to shreds. Adjusting my hold, I look up. Her window is open. It feels like a good sign. I mean, it’s not like I promised I’d be climbing in through her window tonight, though I might’ve suggested it. I might’ve also cracked the bulb on the security light for that exact purpose.

Above me, Clara’s face appears, her dark hair hanging vertical, her beautiful eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re insane,” she whisper-hisses, unable to rein in her smile.

Insane is about the strength of it, because insane is the way she makes me feel. I’m consumed by the thought of her. I lie in bed at night almost suffocated by the weight of my need.

“What light through yonder window breaks,” I grunt out, propelling myself past a gap in the trellis.

“What?” Man, the sheer delight in her tone. She’s so fucking special, and out of all the guys drooling after her, she picked me.

“It is my lady.” I hook my hand over the sill and pull myself up, biceps screaming, boots scraping against brick as I swing inside. I brush the dust from my jeans and straighten. The room is mostly pink and softly lit, but that’s not what I’m paying attention to.

How the fuck did I get to be so lucky?

I take a step toward her, feeding my hand under the silky curtain of her dark hair. “It is my love,” I whisper, borrowing another of the Bard’s lines.

My chest feels tight, the feeling something I can’t place. Can’t place and don’t know what to do with. We’re almost in kissing distance, sharing the same air, and for a second, I forget what to do with my hands. Hell, what even are hands?

“Hey.” A soft word. A coy smile.

Then I’m experiencing the beauty of her lips by feel as I press my mouth to hers. Soft and coaxing. Teasing and sweet. Her honeyed sigh. Her breath speeding up as she stands on her toes to deepen the contact. She feels so soft where I feel hard, and Jesus, I want her so much. You only get one first time with a girl, and I’m not gonna rush it. She deserves better than that. This girl. This woman, the kind that guys like me are supposed to admire at a distance. I’m gonna take my time, just like I promised her. And I’ll need every minute, because she makes me feel so fuckin’ greedy.

“Hey.” I brush my nose against hers, slowing the moment.

“Hello there, Romeo.” Her eyes are deep blue and lust drunk, and her words so husky, I find myself biting back my smile.

“Sorry I’m a little late.” I thread the dark locks behind her ears. Press a kiss to her forehead.

“I wasn’t sure you would really come.”

“Someone’s a liar,” I say, setting her back and letting my eyes roam over her. “And someone will be coming.”

“Troy!” She says my name as though scandalized, but all I can do is shake my head. And try to make sure I’m not drooling as I stare. “What?” She pushes her shoulders back a touch. She knows she looks good wrapped in that short silky robe. She’s like a pretty package I can’t wait to rip at.

“You always go to bed dressed like that?”

“No.” She gives a tiny shimmy. “I’m usually naked.”

I grin. I mean, I don’t believe it for a minute, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about it for a beat. Or eternity.