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“You should go to bed,” he said, glancing at the clock on the stove.

“Mhmm.” Her eyes drifted closed. She wanted him to keep talking, words wrapping around her like molasses.

“Do you want me to carry you?” The amusement in his voice popped her eyes open.

“No, sorry. I can do it.” She slid off the counter and stumbled when her knee gave out. She fell into him, and he let out a huff. “Sorry,” she murmured. He was warm and solid and held her like she might break.

The wine might have hit a bit harder than she’d thought. Riley rested her cheek on his chest. Her eyes closed again, and she floated with his steady heartbeat.

In the next moment, she was in her bed, and he was looking at her with something she couldn’t name. “I’ll text you in the morning.” He gave her one last half-smile and faded away, almost hazy in her vision.

Leaving.

Riley jerked up, blinking and cold. She took a quick gulp of water on the bedside table and then frowned at it. She hadn’t put it there.

Saint pulled on his jacket, moving silently. The walls moved a little, and vertigo threatened to spin them as Riley pushed herself up. She put her hand on the wall, right below the small hole from the previous tenants. The wine. The wine had done this.

“Saint, wait.”

He turned.

“Will you stay?”

He assessed her for a moment, running calculations or whatever it was, and finally nodded. Riley sighed and collapsed on her bed. He re-hung his jacket and returned, stepping around the screen that separated her bed from the living room. “You sure?”

She nodded, her mouth dry as she considered his height. Heat thudded through her, but she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t nervous. She patted the bed next to her and made room for him. Sexily.

Riley wanted to be better prepared for… this. But she wanted him to stay more than she needed to be perfectly shaved and hydrated. Maybe he won’t mind.

He shook his head. “You’ve been drinking.”

Or maybe he would.

Her brow furrowed. “So have you.”

She felt like she’d been splashed by cold water. Except it was hot and full of rage. Saint slipped both hands into his jeans pockets, and he stayed where he was.

Riley crossed her arms and set her mouth.

“You need to sleep.”

“And you don’t?”

“We’re not talking about me.”

She unfolded and recrossed her arms. She wasn’t going to insist. She wasn’t desperate. If he wanted to sleep in his cold bed all alone, that was his choice. Just because he thought—

“I’m not leaving.” The smile he gave her had a dark edge, and her mental tirade ground to a stop. If he didn’t want to sleep with her, and he wasn’t leaving…

“I’m confused.”

He smiled gently at her. “Can I sleep on your couch instead?” He jerked his chin over to it.

He’d barely fit.

Who showed up for a booty call and slept on the couch?

Him, apparently.