Page 42 of The Clinch
His voice softens, not challenging now, just curious. “But you don’t think it costs you anything?”
I consider that. “It costs me plenty. Everything costs something. I chose to pay in exchange for freedom.”
I stare out at the skyline, lights everywhere, lives in motion, people not constantly editing themselves.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, voice lower now, more careful, “you didn’t look helpless out there.”
“I wasn’t.”
“No. You looked dangerous.”
“Good.”
The silence between us changes shape. Less defensive. Less sharp.
I turn to face him.
Huge mistake.
He’s so close that our breaths mix. The city glitters behind him, but he blocks out everything else.
“What are you doing, Brooklyn?” The nickname slips out before I can stop it. Impulsive. Unplanned. A crack in my control.
He goes very still. When his eyes meet mine, I catch the smallest sign that he likes this far too much.
“People are staring,” I manage.
“They are.” He smiles. “Because you’re stunning.” His eyes sweep over my face, slow and assessing. “And I’m the lucky bastard who gets to take you home tonight.”
The words come out polished. His voice doesn’t.
“Smooth.” I laugh because I need the distance humor gives me.
“Observant,” he corrects. Not laughing at all.
His body radiates warmth through the thin silk, and I realize my breathing has synced with his. In. Out. Steady.
“Relax,” he says quietly. “We’re in public.”
When I stay silent, he lifts an amused eyebrow.
“You turned around on me, Flash. I’m just standing here.”
A laugh escapes me, tension uncoiling for a single beat.
But he doesn’t step back. His hands stay braced on the railing. His body stays inches from mine. The space between us hums with everything we’re not saying.
“We should go back inside,” I manage finally.
My hand lifts before I can stop it and smooths once over his lapel. A tiny, ridiculous gesture. Intimate enough to register. Possessive enough to surprise me.
His eyes drop to my hand. When he looks back at me, his gaze is darker than it was a second ago.
“Probably,” he agrees.
For one stretched moment, we just stand there. Too close. Not close enough.
Then voices drift toward us—other guests heading to the balcony. Leo steps back easily, offering his arm.
