Page 44 of One Night Only

A small laugh slips out of me, awkward and breathless as it comes through a tight throat. I want to sprint across the room like they do in climactic moments in Bollywood movies. I want to fall to my knees and beg him to love me as I do him. I want so much that it terrifies me.

In what universe can there be more between us? How?

If I go down that route, I might truly go mad. And if I stay too long in this bubble, I’ll never want to leave. All or nothing have always been my only two speeds.

“Good morning, Ethan,” I say, loving how his name tingles on my lips. “I wish you had woken me up.”

“You were dead to the world. I still stole a kiss though.”

“No fair,” I say. The wicked glint in his eyes makes me warm all over. “You robbed me of the chance to wake up with your arms around me.”

“I have more than a half hour.” His eyes gleam with naked desire he lets me see. And just like that, he’s familiar again. “You want to get back into bed?”

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, fingers trembling. “Then I’ll just beg you to fuck me again. I told you, I’m a slut for you.”

It’s crass and cutting, but I need to bring this down to the physical plane. The quiet censure in his eyes tells me it’s too late for that.

“So,” he says, pushing off the door. Smiling faintly, as if I didn’t try to belittle both of us just now. “Zach and Rahul invited you to join them as a throuple, right?”

I let out a small, disbelieving laugh, shaking my head. “You miss nothing, do you?”

“When it comes to you, absolutely not.”

He says the words in a casual tone but there’s an intensity to them. I shy away from his gaze and fold the cheap cupid costume. “That was before they saw you.”

“Will you look at me when you’re talking to me? Or are we pretending like we’re strangers who fucked in the night and can’t stand each other in the morning?”

There’s a leashed anger in him that zips up my spine like an electric charge. God, even his anger turns me on. I turn to him,and the impact of him on my system is lethal. His short hair has begun air-drying into waves, and dark circles cradle his eyes.

He looks magnetic and sexy and tired. For one second, I step away from the crushing weight of having to say goodbye to him and see what’s ahead for him.

Martha’s recovery is going to be a long road, and he has big decisions to make. A strange, sweet contentment fills me at the thought of being there for him for one night. To have eased his burden just a little.

“Ani?”

I inhale roughly and think back to his question. “It was an offer made out of pity.”

His brows rise in surprise. “Is it that easy for them?”

I shake my head. The elephant we’re both ignoring is stomping around us, expanding to take over the suite. “Easy, no. I think whatever happened last night was more than just sex. It scared them. They think that if they have me in the middle, they don’t have to face it or name it. Or do anything about it.”

“Sounds like it was a life-changing night all around.”

I pause, feeling the knot I woke up with tighten in my chest.

Dr. Cross watches me for a moment, as if waiting for me to take the bait. Then, with that same steady gaze, he says, “So you won’t consider their offer? Not even in the future?”

“Not interested at all. I have enough insecurities without jumping into a relationship with two men who are in love with each other. Plus, last night taught me a lot about myself. About my own needs and desires.” I bite back the thank-you that rises to my lips. It sounds very transactional, and the last thing I want is to anger him at this last moment. All roads between us right now would lead to the bed I’m not trying to sniff at like an addict. “Apparently, even I can move forward in life and not make the same mistakes twice.”

His mouth purses into a straight line. “I hate it when you use self-deprecation to avoid hard topics.”

That little insight he has into me is so on point that it pricks. “Wow, our relationship, if we can call it that, really moves at meteoric speeds, huh, Dr. Cross? We’ve already reached the ‘I-hate-when-you’ parts.”

“What do you hate about me?” he says, in that tone he used when reading questions from the deck. Like there’s nothing more interesting in the entire world than my mind.

I meet his challenging gaze, heart scuttling in my throat like a trapped bird. “I hate it when you’re right about me, even though I love it that you see me so clearly.”

He laughs, the sound low and genuine, and for a moment, the weight in my chest lightens. “Good to know,” he says, though there’s something else in the way he’s looking at me now. Something deeper, quieter.

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