Hook, line, and sinker.
His eyes don’t just look at me; they consume. Worship. And somewhere deep inside, a terrifying question flickers through me—
What would I do if he ever stopped looking at me like this? If one day those eyes no longer saw me as something beautiful… how would I survive that?
“Hey, baby.”
His voice is low, rich, slightly husky with the lazy heat of evening. A slow smile, more of a smirk, curves at his mouth, and just like that, my knees weaken.
It’s not even a full smile. But from him, it’s everything.
“Hi,” I manage, voice barely above a whisper, my throat tight.
I swallow. Hard.
crap…
What is it about him that always makes me forget myself? Why, even after all this time, can’t I get used to the way he looks at me or the way I feel under his gaze?
We see each other every day. Live together. Sleep in the same bed.
And yet… one look, and I’m unraveling all over again.
Like, I’m still trying to survive loving someone like him.
Alex must notice I’m struggling either with words or just the simple act of breathing, because he moves.
Without a word, he pushes himself out of the pool in one smooth motion, water cascading down the carved lines of his body, glinting under the balcony lights like liquid silver.
I blink.
And my breath catches
He’s… naked.
Yes, I’ve seen him naked more times than I can count. We shower together. Sleep together. We’ve touched, kissed, tastedevery inch of each other, explored each other’s bodies in ways I never thought I’d share with anyone.
But nothing, and I mean nothing, prepares me for the sight of his nakedness when I’m not expecting it.
The sheer size of him.
The confidence in his stride.
The way that slim silver chain hangs around his neck, resting against the wet gleam of his collarbones, catching the light like it has its own heartbeat.
And that look in his eyes.
That heavy, unreadable look that says he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
My face burns as he walks toward me with calm purpose, like he has all the time in the world. Water trails down the thick lines of his chest, along his abs, lower—Fuck… My grip on the bouquet tightens slightly.
He stops right in front of me. Close enough that the scent of chlorine and that addictive cologne he always wears fills my nose. I suck in a shaky breath and look up at him.
He glances at the bouquet in my hand, then back at my face.
“Thank you for the flowers…” I manage, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I wasn’t expecting them.”
His expression doesn’t shift, but something flickers in his eyes.
