His hand shoots out, lightning fast, wraps around my waist, his fingers digging into my wet skin. He yanks me flush against him, our bodies colliding with a soft thud. For one breathless moment, we just burn there, skin to skin.
The water from my body seeps into his shirt, but neither of us notices. My heart is thundering against my ribs, echoing the frantic beat of his own. The scent of him, clean and masculine, fills my lungs, intoxicating me.
His tone is a low growl against my cheek, raw and desperate. "You think this is control. You think this is a game." He pulls me even tighter, his body hard and unyielding against mine, leaving no room for doubt about what he feels. His lips brush my ear, his breath hot. "This is nothing but fucking chaos. And you're playing with fire."
And then he lets me go.
As if I'm a live wire about to electrocute him.
He pushes past me, the sudden release leaving me reeling, breathless and cold. He hurries out of the kitchen, leaving me alone again.
I'm not worried, though more than a bit disappointed. It’s not that he doesn’t want me. It’s that wanting me terrifies him more than any enemy with a gun.
Suddenly, I’m not just a problem he’s trying to manage.
I’m a threat he can’t control.
CHAPTER 16
RAFE
My phone buzzes with a notification.
Again.
I don't need to check it to know what it says. Probably another press mention or a tagged story. Or even worse another desperate influencer, begging for a collab with me.
The campaign's working. She's everywhere now. Not just on social media feeds, but in my personal space and my head, which is supposed to be unburdened by distractions.
I didn't build a life around calculated risks and absolute control, to let it all collapse under the weight of one American with bedroom eyes and a mouth that never shuts up.
She's in my blood now and I don't know how to cut her out. It's a terrifying realization, a weakness I can't afford to acknowledge, even to myself.
"Is something wrong, boss?" Enzo's voice calls out. He leans against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He watches me the way he watches dogs that might bite, unpredictable and dangerous.
"You've been pacing for fifteen minutes," he adds. "Which isn't a thing you do. You're a man who sits and waits patiently."
"She's pushing," I reply. "Too far, too fast. She's drawing too much attention. The wrong kind of attention."
He cocks a brow. "You mean in public? The way she's making you a household name, albeit a ridiculously nicknamed one. Personally, the #Rikki hashtag is growing on me. They’re shipping the two of you hard. Is that what concerns you?"
I don't confirm or deny. To do so would be to admit weakness.
"Or in private?" Enzo continues.
He knows me too well. It's one of the reasons he's indispensable. And one of the reasons he's so irritating at times.
I shoot him a look. "We don't mix those two. You know the rules. Business and… everything else. They're separate entities. Everything in its place."
"Too late, you already mixed it," he counters. He gestures vaguely with his head towards the general direction of the kitchen, towards the pool.
The recent memory of the water, of her body pressing against mine, flashes through my mind, hot and vivid.
"That was a tactical error. A moment of miscalculation. Nothing more. Nothing happened."
"Yet," he says calmly.
"She's a big fucking problem."
