Saint’s attention shifts to my untouched soda. “You haven’t eaten.”
I blink. “What?”
“The party started two hours ago.” His eyes move over me once. “You haven’t eaten.”
Elliot stares.
Saint motions for someone behind Elliot. A server materializes from somewhere and reaches behind him. He takes a plate from a passing server and hands it to me.
Then he looks at Elliot. “You should feed your guests.”
The words are polite, yet Elliot’s jaw tightens, a challenge wrapped inside a courtesy.
He’s picking on Elliot in a way that doesn’t make it obvious, but I know he’s sizing him up and pointing out that his hospitality since I arrived is lacking on his part.
Saint looks back at me. “You’re cold.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
The temperature dropped almost an hour ago, and I’m cold, but I don’t want to admit that to him. Admitting it wouldgive him the satisfaction of being right. Elliot didn’t offer me something to eat or ask if I was comfortable or needed anything. But then I remember Saint didn’t invite me.
Saint removes his hoodie. My stomach immediately betrays me and flutters, begging for his warmth.
It also doesn’t help that I know what he feels like underneath and because the gesture feels intimate. Possessive.
He holds it out, but I don’t take it.
Neither of us moves. The air between us thickens and stretches.
“Amy.” My name sounds different as he says it. Intimate like there is more underneath the surface between us.
Elliot notices. The realization. Whatever he thought this was before has changed.
Because Saint isn’t flirting. He isn’t competing. He isn’t trying to win. He’s behaving like the outcome was decided long ago. And somehow that’s far more terrifying.
Slowly, I take the hoodie. Saint’s gaze drops briefly to the fabric in my hands. The smallest hint of approval crosses his features.
Then his attention returns to Elliot. The silence that follows feels sharp like a blade ready to strike.
Like standing too close to the edge, Elliot exhales. A nervous laugh escapes him. “You’re a weird guy.”
For the first time all evening, Saint smiles. A smile that belongs in dark places. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”
The music starts to pound behind us. The crimson water ripples. The woods beyond the property disappear into darkness. And standing between the two men, I realize something. Elliot might be interested in me.
But Saint?
Saint already acts like I’ve been his for years.
Saint glances at Elliot’s empty cup. “ You should go get yourself another drink.”
Elliot glances at his empty cup. “Yeah.” He glances at me and then at the bartender and back.
“I’m good,” I tell him, handing him my now empty plate. “Go ahead.”
Elliot looks nervously at Saint and then mutters, “I’ll be right back.”