I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought. “Get it together, Wren. It’s just a fucking shirt.”
I catch sight of myself in a full-length mirror and smirk. My hair’s a rat’s nest, last night’s makeup is smudged to hell, and this shirt makes me look like I’m drowning in fabric. But somehow… I kinda dig it.
My fingers absently trace the hem of D’s shirt. This is a bad idea. No, scratch that; it’s the mother of all fuck-ups waiting to happen. I’ve spent years building walls, keeping everyone at arm’s length. And here comes D, smashing through them like they’re made of paper.
Stop it, Wren! It’s just fucking, nothing else!
Even as the thought forms, I feel my body call bullshit. My thighs clench involuntarily, remembering the feel of him between them. My nipples harden against the soft fabric, betraying me further.
“Fuck,” I mutter, squeezing my eyes shut. Who am I kidding? I want him like I want my next breath. The danger, the raw intensity—it’s like a drug, and I’m already jonesing for another hit.
Fuck. I need to get my shit together before I start humping the furniture or some equally desperate bullshit. I drag my ass to the bathroom, half-expecting more rich boy extravagance. But it’s just… normal.
I splash cold water on my face, scrubbing off last night’s raccoon eyes with a washcloth that feels like it might disintegrate.
My gaze catches on a towel hanging from a hook nearby. Before I can stop myself, I’m shuffling over, fingers reaching out to touch the soft fabric.
I lean in, inhaling deeply.
Geez, that reeks of his scent. All woodsy and spice and pure fucking man.
“Pull yourself together, you thirsty bitch,” I mutter, forcing myself to hang the towel back up. It’s just pheromones or some shit. Doesn’t mean anything.
A quick sniff test on the pit has me wrinkling my nose.
“Ew,” I snarl. Damn it, I reek like a stripper’s lunch break. It’ll have to do until I can grab a real shower.
I’m about to bail on this bathroom when I catch my own eye in the mirror. Fuck me. There’s something there I haven’t seen in ages.
A spark. Like I’m actually alive for once.
Last time I saw that look, I was about to do something monumentally stupid. And here it is again, staring back at me.
That spark… it’s dangerous.
It’s the same one when I start totrustsomeone.
The spark that shows up when I like someone more than I should.
Fuck.
Somehow, I trust D, but that’s a fuckin’ one-way ticket to the morgue, and I know it.
27
Dimitri
The taste of her lingers on my tongue, a fucking distraction I don’t need. Wren’s at my safe house, probably snooping through my shit. Should bother me more than it does.Fuck.
Focus. There’s work to be done.
I stalk into the dungeon, Erik at my heels. The sorry bastard who tried to grab Wren is strapped to a chair, face already a mess of bruises and blood. Good. Saves me some warm-up.
“Rise and shine, asshole,” I growl, backhanding him hard enough to snap his head back.
He groans, eyes fluttering open. “Please… I don’t know anything…”
“Wrong answer.” I grab a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back. “Who sent you after the girl?”
