Sweat owns my skin. My stained, silk dress clings to me. I already know there's no dry cleaner who could ever return it to its previous state, which pisses me off. I paid a fortune for this dress. And my inner gut tells me that whatever Omni decided to put me here, they knew I'd be wearing this.
Brax sprawls across the sofa like heat doesn't bother him, but his towel is soaked, his chest slowly rises and falls with what I've quickly come to learn is irritation. Every few minutes, he glances at me with his infuriating smirk, which makes me believe he's surviving only to torment me.
He teases, "Still memorizing your sacred inscriptions, Minx?"
"You should be thankful that I'm double-checking what I'm teaching you so you know every intricate detail," I inform. I scanthe lines I scrawled across the back of a napkin again. The letters blur from the humidity in the room.
He chuckles. "You're cooking yourself alive in that thing."
I look up, arching an eyebrow at him.
He grins, twirling his finger at me. "That dress is just added torture."
I toss the napkin on the floor. "Your point?"
He prods, "How do you stay in it?"
"It's called discipline."
"It's called stupidity." He sits up. "You know what I'd kill for right now?"
"An air conditioner?"
"And..."
I shrug. "A beer."
His face lights up. "Steak. Medium rare. Grilled over an open flame, with a side of whiskey."
My lips twitch. "That's primal of you. But not sure how you can think about anything having to do with flames right now."
He slides on the floor and pins his face next to mine. "Since there's no steak, I'll take you without that dress."
My butterflies flip. "Yeah?"
Hope flares in his expression. "Yeah."
"Try the sink. That will fill you up."
"Tried it. Tastes like metal."
A laugh flies out of me.
His eyes cut to my chest. "Take it off, Valentina. For the love of God, take it off before it melts into your perfect skin."
I crumble the napkin and toss it next to the rest of the wet paper I've accumulated over the last few hours. I glare at him. "Do you have a death wish?"
"Probably." He murmurs in my ear, "You're drenched. It's distracting."
The heat of his breath teases my lips. "So close your eyes."
"Not a chance."
I don't move.
He jumps off the floor, stretches, and every muscle shifts under his glistening skin. The towel hangs low on his hips, ready to slip off.
My pulse jerks. I force my gaze to the fire.
