Page 30 of Tipping Point

I sigh. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who just irks me like this. She’s so perceptive.

“Oh, come on,” she taunts. “It’s just a joke.”

She wraps her arms around herself.

I unbutton my jacket and shake it out, holding it out to her to put on. She misinterprets and steps forward, allowing me to drape it over her shoulders.

I do so.

When I bring the collars together under her chin, she looks up at me, her grey eyes a murky river.

“You’re shitfaced,” I growl.

She snorts and bumps up against me.

I place a hand on the small of her back and she leans in to me.

There’s that burnt sugar smell again.

I lick my lips.

When the door opens, I guide her to the suite, swiping us in. She gives a low whistle as she makes her way to the glass wall and looks out at the harbour, lights twinkling from every yacht.

“It’s gorgeous.”

“Hm.”

“You don’t like it?”

“I prefer it curly.”

“What?” She turns to me, confused.

“Nothing.”

She gives a small stumble and I step forward to grab her arm again.

“Time for bed, Curls.” I guide her towards the bedroom. She pauses on the threshold, but I haul her forward.

Her eyes are large when I push her down on the bed. I kneel to undo the clasps on her sandals.

“Don’t.” She leans forward and runs her hand over her feet, undoing the clasp herself.

“I don’t mind.”

“I do.” She looks at me. Our faces are very close together. “It’s too intimate.”

“To touch your feet?” I ask, curiously.

She nods and tucks a strand of gold behind an ear, but it springs loose immediately, hanging like a curtain in front of her face.

I reach up and untie my hair, handing her the elastic band.

“Is this mine?” she asks with a smile.

I don’t answer her and she ties up her hair messily. When I stand up, she holds out a hand and I help her to her feet.

Her grey eyes are a storm. She looks at me daringly, challenging. She lifts her arms like a child.