"You shouldn't have barged in here without knocking," I say, but there's no real anger in my voice.
"Probably not," he agrees, stepping closer. "But I’m not sorry."
"Enzo..."
"Yes?"
I have no idea what I was going to say. My brain has completely short-circuited from steam, nakedness, and the most attractive man I've ever met standing way too close while looking at me like he wants to devour me.
"I should... get dressed," I manage.
"You should," he agrees, but doesn't move away.
We stand there for a moment that stretches between us like a wire pulled taut, full of possibility and tension and something that feels inevitable.
Instead of stepping back, he moves closer. His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb tracing along my cheekbone, and I can see the exact moment he stops fighting whatever this is between us.
"Fuck it," he says quietly, and then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss starts slow, almost tentative, like he's giving me a chance to pull away. But the moment our lips touch, something ignites between us. I drop my hands from clutching the towel to grip his shoulders, and he takes that as the invitation it is.
His other hand slides into my wet hair, tilting my head back as he deepens the kiss. He tastes like whiskey and danger and something I can't name but want more of. The kiss becomes hungrier, more demanding, and I find myself pressing closer to him despite the voice in my head screaming that this is a very bad idea.
When he pulls back, we're both breathing hard. His eyes are dark with want, and I can feel the evidence of his desire pressed against me.
"This complicates things," he says, his voice rough.
"Everything about this is already complicated," I whisper back.
He studies my face for a long moment, then steps back.
"Dinner's at eight if you want to join me," he says, voice back to that controlled calm that drives me crazy. "Nothing formal. Just celebrating our partnership."
"I..." I clutch the towel tighter. "Yes. Okay. Dinner."
"Good. See you then."
He heads for the door, then pauses.
"Madison?"
"Yeah?"
"Next time you want privacy, you might want to lock the door. Never know who might come in."
The suggestion in his voice makes it clear he's hoping there won't be a next time. That he's hoping I'll be just careless enough to let this happen again. And the terrifying thing is, I'm hoping the same thing.
After he leaves, I sink onto the edge of the tub and try to catch my breath. What just happened was completely inappropriate and probably calculated and definitely something I should be angry about.
Instead, I'm turned on in a way that makes me question my sanity.
The man is clearly dangerous. Not just attractive-dangerous, but actually dangerous in ways I don't understand. He's holding a massive debt over my head, he's manipulated every aspect of our arrangement, and he just walked in on me naked like it was natural.
I should be packing and finding a way back to Seattle.
Instead, I'm wondering what to wear to dinner that might make him look at me again the way he looked at me in this bathroom.
I really need to get my priorities straight.
