Page 27 of The Sculptor

I know immediately when he’s made his decision. His tongue wets his lips while his eyes become hooded with want. “I need to close my tab, Billy.”

If Billy could give me a high-five, I’m sure he would, but instead, he takes the bottle from Duke and prints out his tab for him to scribble something that looks like a signature.

“Come on, Dr. Potter.” I offer him my hand. “Let’s find your heart.” But then I think how ridiculous that sounds and add, “And your hotel.”

For a moment, Duke just stares at my outstretched hand, and something primal passes through his eyes before he stands, his chest brushing mine. “If I were you, Ray, I wouldn’t taunt me with my own possessions.”

Leaning closer, his breath ghosts over my ear, the smell of bourbon invading my senses. “I might decide I’m no longer willing to share them with your congressman.”

Ramsey

Duke magically remembered where he was staying as soon as we left the bar, but unfortunately, that’s where his helpfulness ended.

“Hold still,” I tell him for the thousandth time.

“I would, Ray,” he chuckles, “but the aggression you’re taking out on my pockets is torture.” He leans back against the hotel door, not embarrassed at all that there’s a raging boner tenting his pants.

“I’m looking for your keycard,” I explain, which, apparently, is in a pocket he can’t remember. Who knows if that’s the truth or if it’s just an excuse for me to shove my hands down his pants again.

But I’ve always loved it when he’s like this—playful and unguarded.

It reminds me of before, when things weren’t so complicated.

“No one told you to yank me around, Ray. You know what that does to me,” he says with a flippant shrug, grinning like a fool.

I swear he makes me crazy—especially when I’m trying not to laugh. “I’m not yanking on you. I simply asked you to turn around so I could check your other pocket.”

“And I did turn around…” His brows rise mockingly. “Then you yanked me.”

I swear to all that is holy… “You were falling! If I hadn’t yanked you, you would have ended up on the floor.”

“Tomato, potato.”

This time, I do laugh. “It’s tomato, tomahto.”

This man is the cutest, most ridiculous person I know.

“Now, seriously, hold still.” I slip my arms around his waist, trying to ignore the firm muscles of his ass, and lift his wallet from his back pocket.

“How many do you see?” I hold the leather wallet in front of him.

The grin that makes me stupid flashes. “Is that a trick question?”

And that means one wallet too many. “All right, Potter,” I say, flipping open his wallet and, as I expected, finding his keycard. “Let’s get you to bed.”

A low and pained noise rips from Duke’s throat. “Those words used to be more exciting when we were younger.”

“Oh, yeah?” I tease. “Are you saying if I put you to bed like I used to, you’ll behave? Perhaps even leave Nevada?”

His grin falters, but only for a second, before he recovers, his thumb going to the corner of my lips. “If you put me to bed like you used to, I’ll happily leave Nevada.”

Those beautiful hazel eyes dance with delight, and that fact alone should have warned me to retreat and not lean into his touch as his thumb drags across my cheek, his whole hand joining the excruciating warmth as it settles at the base of my neck, holding firm. “I’ll gladly leave Nevada, Ray. The question is, will you leave Nevada amenable or kicking or screaming?” He leans in closer, the warmth of his breath ghosting over my skin. “Because either way, my love, you’re leaving Nevada with me.”

His words root me into place. “You promised to leave,” I remind him.

“And you promised to marry me.” He shrugs. “Guess we both are breaking promises.”

“That isn’t the same thing! I was a teenager when I promised to marry you.”

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