Ryley exhaled sharply, forcing a light chuckle past his lips, even as confusion and something far more treacherous coiled inside him, threatening to spill over.
He should have pulled away. He should have sneered, thrown a sharp remark laced with venom, reminded Clyde exactly who he was dealing with.
But he didn't.
Because right now, in this fleeting moment, Ryley was tired.
Tired of this endless game, tired of pretending indifference when the warmth of Clyde's touch still lingered against his skin like a ghost of something long lost.
So instead, he smiled—a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that revealed nothing of the storm raging inside him. "That's very kind of you."
Clyde's reaction was immediate.
Ryley watched, almost in disbelief, as something boyish flickered through those sharp blue eyes—a gleam so unguarded, so damn genuine, it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.
God.
