MILO’S POV

“Rule twelve,” I said, trying to sound like a serious adult and not a man whose entire nervous system was fried. “You don’t—”

Then it happened.

A hand — a warm, soft, absolutely disastrous hand — slid under the table…

…and landed on my thigh.

Not lightly.

Not politely.

Firm.

My voice broke in half.

My brain shut down.

My soul left my body.

“Elara,” I said slowly, turning toward her like a man walking into a fire. “Your hand. Move it.”

Did she move it?

NO.

Of course not.

She pressed harder. I felt her nails drag a little through the fabric of my suit pants.

A...