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Chapter 537
Chapter 537:
“Just marry him and become my cousin-in-law. Then we’d actually be family p>
The martini had thoroughly dismantled June’s analytical defenses. She wasn’t processing the words — she was simply responding to the warmth and safety of the moment around her. Her head dipped in a vague nod.
“Sure…” she murmured, her eyelids drifting shut. “Cousin-in-law… sounds good p>
The living room went absolutely still.
Sloane slapped both hands over her mouth, eyes wide. She looked at Easton and wiggled her eyebrows in frantic, silent triumph.
Easton did not move.
But beneath the surface of his stillness, something enormous crashed against the inside of his ribs. His eyes were fixed on June’s flushed, sleeping face. He knew it was the alcohol. He knew she had no idea what she had just said, or that she had said anything at all.
But hearing those words leave her lips — even unguarded, even accidental — was a spark dropping into gasoline. It ignited something dark and possessive that he had spent months holding carefully in check.
He drew a slow, measured breath and forced his muscles to relax, pushing down the overwhelming urge to gather her into his arms.
“Stop playing games, Sloane,” he said. His voice came out low and rough at the edges.
𝘚𝘩𝘢𝗋𝗲 y𝗈𝘶r 𝗳a𝗏𝗈ri𝘵e𝘴 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺
June had no idea she had just set off an earthquake. She shifted on the cushions, tucked her legs up beneath her, and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Sloane recognized her cue to exit. She stood, stretched her arms overhead, and announced, “I need my beauty sleep. The guest room is mine. Goodnight,” and padded off down the hallway.
The living room settled into silence.
The floor lamp cast a warm, low glow across the sofa. Easton set his glass on the table and rose quietly to his feet. He crossed to where June was sleeping and lowered himself onto one knee in front of her, close enough to study the soft rise and fall of her breathing.
The absolute restraint in his expression began, slowly, to fracture — revealing something beneath it that was vast and consuming and not at all safe. The boundaries of the night felt dangerously close to giving way.
The Manhattan night beyond the penthouse windows was dark and still.
Inside the living room, the only sound was the soft, even rhythm of June’s breathing.
Easton remained kneeling on the Persian rug, his gaze fixed on her face for a long, agonizing moment. He traced the curve of her jaw with his eyes, entirely captivated. Finally, with great effort, he looked away. The physical cost of that restraint left a dull ache in his chest.
He rose and walked quietly to the sleek, temperature-controlled wine cooler, poured a glass of room-temperature water, and set it on the coffee table where she would find it when she woke up. Then he continued down the hall to the master bedroom, where a thick Hermès cashmere blanket lay folded at the foot of the bed. He carried it back to the living room.