Wynter’s hands stilled for a moment, then moved to my temples, his touch firmer now, grounding me. “You’ll see her soon,” he said, his voice steady. “And when you do, you’ll show me all those places. Taman Suropati, the food stalls, everything.”
I tilted my head back to look at him, a playful glint in my eyes. “You think you can handle Jakarta? It’s not exactly quiet.”
“I think I can handle anything as long as you’re there,” he said, his lips quirking into a small smile.
The sincerity in his voice made my breath hitch. I turned back around, not sure how to respond, and Wynter resumed his gentle ministrations, his hands sliding back into my hair.
“Is this okay?” he asked after a moment, his thumbs pressing against the base of my skull.
“More than okay,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
The massage shifted then, becoming slower, more deliberate. His fingers traced patterns along my scalp, his touch lingering a fraction longer than necessary. My skin tingled under his hands, a warmth spreading through me that had nothing to do with the oil.
“Wyn,” I said softly, tilting my head back again to meet his gaze.
His eyes were dark, searching mine, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. Then, as if pulled by an invisible thread, he leaned down, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss so soft it felt like a question.
I turned fully toward him, my hands finding their way to his shoulders, and deepened the kiss, answering him without words. His hands slid down from my hair to cradle my face, his thumbs brushing against my cheeks.
“I—I um I need to go take a shower.” I cleared my throat.
“Now?” he wondered, lifting a curious eyebrow.
“Certainly now, this very instant.” I laughed nervously, grabbing my towel and locking myself in the bathroom.
This man was driving me insane.
I didn’t want him to think I was this insatiable creature who didn’t know how to control herself around him. I had to pace myself, pace us. He was far more experienced than I was and yet I was the one who the very second I was alone with him wanted nothing more than for him to strip me bare. It was almost embarrassing how desperately I craved him.
I took a long shower, pressing my forehead to the glass and praying to any god who would listen to have mercy on me. Having a gorgeous figure skater boyfriend didn’t necessarilycome with a step-by-step instruction manual on how to control yourself.
The bathroom was still filled with steam as I stepped out, the scent of my vanilla body wash lingering in the air. Wrapping a towel snugly around myself, I padded barefoot into the bedroom, expecting to find Wynter planning out his next practice by pencil and paper like he usually did.
Instead, I was greeted by the sight of him sprawled on the bed, a book held precariously close to his face. His reading glasses he never let anyone see were slipping down his nose, and his free hand was absently scratching the back of his neck.
I paused in the doorway, curious. Wynter’s taste in books usually leaned toward history or fantasy—dense novels that I could never quite get into. But this book was different. The cover, peeking out from behind his hands, was unmistakably romantic: soft pastels, a couple mid-embrace, and a title that practically screamed spicy content ahead.
“Wynter,” I said, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe.
He startled, nearly dropping the book. His wide eyes met mine, and the faintest blush crept across his cheeks. “Oh, uh—hey,” he stammered, quickly snapping the book shut.
I arched an eyebrow, my lips twitching with amusement. “What are you reading?”
“Nothing,” he said too quickly, shoving the book under a pillow like a guilty teenager.
“Nothing?” I echoed, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward him. “Because it didn’t look like ‘nothing’.”
“It’s just…a book,” he muttered, avoiding my gaze.
I sat on the edge of the bed, eyeing the pillow now serving as his makeshift hiding spot. “A book about what?”
“Love.”
I couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled up. “Love? Wynter, you are the worst liar I’ve ever met.”
He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I am not being untruthful. It’s a romance novel, okay? Sydney lent copies to Jax and me, said it’d be ‘eye-opening’ for the male species.”
That caught my attention. Classic Syd. “Eye-opening, huh?” I reached for the pillow, but Wynter grabbed it before I could.
