"I—" My voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again. "I wasn't actually trying to break in. Well, technically I did break in, but I had a really good reason that probably won't sound good at all when I say it out loud, but—"
"You're rambling."
"Because I'm naked!" The words burst out before I can stop them. "And you're... you'relookingat me."
"Would you prefer I close my eyes while you explain why you're in my bed?"
"I'd prefer pants." I spot my clothes on the floor, just out of reach. "Or death. Death would work too."
He doesn't move. Just stands there, towering over me, radiating heat and danger and something else that makes my insides twist with want.Focus, Bella. Focus.
"I'm a photographer," I blurt out. "I was supposed to shoot the Morrison estate next door, but my car broke down, and then itstarted raining, and there was thunder, and my phone had no signal, and your gate was open, and—" I pause for breath. "—and I really need to stop talking."
"And the toy?" His hand slides into his pocket where my green monster disappeared. "Was that part of the photography equipment?"
My face burns hotter. "It's my birthday."
"Your birthday," he repeats slowly.
"Yes. I bought it as a... birthday present. To myself. Because I'm pathetically single and apparently make terrible life choices. Like breaking into isolated mansions I thought were abandoned and—" I snap my mouth shut. Shit.
He still doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. But something in his face shifts.
Not anger. Not yet. Just... surprise. A flash of it. Like evenhedidn’t expect that answer.
I nod slowly. “Yep. Just me, a joint from my best friend, and a fantasy about pretending this place was mine for a few hours.”
A beat of silence.
“So let me get this straight,” he says, finally. “You broke into a house in the middle of nowhere… because you were bored and lonely?”
“Well when you say it likethat…”
“There is no version where that doesn’t sound insane.”
Fair.
Alow chuckle escapes him, the sound doing illegal things to my body. "Try again,malyshka."
"Look, I'm a photographer. I notice things. Like the security setup that I definitely should have noticedbeforebreaking in. And the way you move, like you're always ready for... something. And—" I gesture vaguely at him with one hand before quickly bringing it back to cover my breast. "—all ofthis."
"All of what?" He leans closer, andsweet baby Jesus, his cologne should be illegal.
“The whole brooding-billionaire-who-definitely-knows-where-to-hide-a-body vibe. ”
God, stop talking, Bella.
"Which I'm now realizing I probably shouldn't mention while I'm naked and at your mercy and oh god, I really need to shut up."
He takes a few steps, and I instinctively pull my knees closer to my chest. But he moves past me to where my bag sits on a chair. My heart stops as he pulls out my wallet.
“Isabella Marquez,” he reads, his accent caressing each syllable. “Born February 14th, 1996.” Something falls from my wallet—a business card. His eyes narrow as he picks it up, and my stomach drops. “Twenty-nine years old. Single.” His lips curve into a dangerous smile as he reads the card. “Real Estate Agent at Elite Properties.” He looks up, eyes glittering. “Not a photographer after all,malyshka.Now, why would you lie about that?”
My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. WhydidI lie? Nothing in my brain makes sense anymore. Not the lie, not breaking in, not the fact that I’m sitting here naked in a stranger’s bed while he holds my dignity hostage.
Finally, I manage to snag the sheet and wrap it around myself, though it feels like closing the barn door after the horse has bolted.
“I don’t… I don’t know,” I whisper, and it’s the truth. “I don’t know why I’m even here.”
