Page 2 of Never Sleep with the Enemy

“Uh-huh,” I murmur, keeping my gaze down, refusing to get caught in his eyes. His smile.

Not tonight.

Not ever again.

“Are you drunk?”

“No. Why?”

“Because you’re leaning.”

I straighten up, but the motion sends a fresh wave of dizziness through me. “Not drunk,” I say. “Totally fine.”

Jonah steps closer, his laughter warm and effortless. “Come on. Let’s get you to your room. Glad to see my wife’s bachelorette party is going well.”

Wife.

He’s already calling her his wife.

His hands graze my arms—friendly, platonic.

I jerk away from the touch. “I’m fine.”

But he stays close, too well-trained in the art of guiding a drunk Benton around after years of friendship with my brother Knox. He just laughs, his calloused bassist fingers hovering near my elbows. “Come on,” he coaxes.

“Jonah, I’m fine. You don’t have to…” I steal a glance at him. Just one.

It’s a mistake.

His eyes—those rich brown Botsford eyes—hit me like a chord played too hard, too fast, vibrating all the way through me. And his hair. That thick, unruly mess he usually hides beneath a beanie. Not tonight. Tonight, it’s free, falling over his forehead in careless waves.

“Marry her.”

Jonah stills. “I don’t have to… what?”

I force myself to look away. To move. To run.

But I don’t.

I plant my feet. I look up, straight into the warmth of his gaze, and say it again.

“You don’t have to marry her.”

Jonah takes a step back, his hands falling to his sides. “What are you talking about, Kat?”

What am I talking about?

WhatamI talking about?

“You…” I take a breath, my head spinning. “Me.”

A single blink and his spine goes taut. “Okay,” he says, his voice calm and soothing, like he’s talking down a belligerent child. “Come on, Katrina. We’ll get you to your room, and then we can?—”

I kiss him.

It’s the only thing that makes sense.

But my lips barely graze his before Jonah grips my shoulders and pushes me back.

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