“Enough,” he said, voice hardened back to the man I recognized. “Get out of the pool. Right the fuck now.”
The spell broke. Reality rushed back in, cold and harsh as the night air against my wet skin.
But instead of waiting for me to move, he pulled away and hauled himself out of the pool in one powerful motion, water cascading off his muscular frame like Poseidon breaking through the surface.
His white T-shirt clung to him like a second skin, revealing every ridge and plane of his torso. He grabbed a towel from the nearby chair, then turned his back to me.
“Come on,” he said gruffly, holding the towel out behind him without looking. “Get out.”
The unexpected gesture of respect caught me off guard. I’d assumed he’d watch me climb out, maybe even offer a hand with that smirk of his. Instead, he stood completely regal with his broad back to me, giving me privacy I hadn’t expected.
I pulled myself out of the pool and took the towel, quickly wrapping it around my body. “I’m covered.”
He turned, eyes immediately assessing me before he stepped forward, crowding me again. Water dripped from his hair onto my shoulders as he loomed over me.
“That was beyond stupid,” he said, voice low. “And dangerous. Don’t do it again.”
Was he still talking about my skinny-dipping adventure, or was he talking about our almost-kiss? “Are you going to escort me back to my room like a naughty child?” I challenged, trying to ignore how my body was still humming in awareness of his proximity.
“Yes.” The word was clipped, final. He bent down, scooped up my clothes, and handed them to me. “Put these on.”
I clutched them to my chest, our fingers brushing. “Turn around.”
He did.
I dressed quickly, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to my damp skin.
“Ready,” I said.
We walked in silence through the moonlit grounds, the only sounds our footsteps and the distant crash of waves. The tension between us was palpable—not just anger or antagonism but something more complicated. More dangerous.
At my door, he caught my arm with his hand, his touch unexpectedly gentle. “Have your sister check your wound. And don’t take risks like that again.”
“Why do you care?” I whispered the question before I could stop myself.
He tightened his fingers slightly, then released his grip on my arm. “I don’t. But if something happens to you, your brother will hold me responsible, and I intend to live a while longer,” he said, but his eyes and his actions earlier told a different story—one of genuine concern hidden beneath the cold façade. “Goodnight, Shorty,” he said, then stepped back.
I intended to slip inside, but the door didn’t budge. I forgot it was locked from the inside.
“How exactly did you get out of your room?” he asked, his voice laced with a dangerous rasp.
Shit. I wasn’t ready to tell him all of my secrets even though I should definitely come clean about the wholestupid mistaken identity thing. But telling him now would only lead to more questions and mistrust. He would never believe I was out and about just for a midnight swim. And telling him Mira locked the door behind me? Not a good idea either. “Balcony?”
He exhaled through his nose and shook his head. “Reckless.”
Then he opened a small nondescript pad next to the door, scanned his iris, and the door popped open.
What the actual fuck?
I stared at the pad, then at him. In reality, there was no privacy or safety on this island. Not if he could get into the room even when it was locked from the inside.
He turned me back around and gave me a tap on my ass before he shoved me inside.
I slipped inside, closed the door behind me, and leaned against it. My heart was racing, and I couldn’t blame it entirely on the awareness of being completely at his mercy.
Why did Ivan Zotov’s presence affect me like this? Why did I care what he thought? Why did I want to kiss him, and why did part of me want to open that door again and see if he was still there?
I was so screwed.
