I don’t stop in the hallway. I don’t linger by the dressing rooms. I don’t look for Lily. I walk straight back to the hotel with my camera heavy on my shoulder and my heart heavier. My room is the safest place I know right now. Four walls. A locked door. A shower hot enough to scrub off desire.
I get inside, kick off my boots, and head into the bathroom like it’s a bunker. The water pounds down, steam rising in thick waves, and I let myself breathe for the first time all day. Let myself think. The question he asked in my ear keeps circling; what would’ve happened if the doors hadn’t opened?
The honest answer terrifies me. We would’ve ruined ourselves. I would’ve let him. He would’ve kept going. And I would’ve asked for more. I shut the water off before my brain gets any louder.
I pull on a soft T-shirt and panties from my mess of a suitcase, and towel-dry my hair as I sit on the edge of the bed. I open my laptop and start backing up photos. Work. Focus. Distance. It’s the glue that’s keeping me together.
Knock. Knock.
I freeze. There’s no reason for anyone to be at my door. Lily would text. Cherry would call. Mikey would kick it down and shout something dumb. Hayden would call out after a light tap. This knock is loud. Controlled. Insistent. The second knock comes before I move. My pulse goes feral. I cross the room and look through the peephole.
Dean. Of course it’s Dean. I knew without even having to check. Damp from his own shower, hair shoved back, black tee clinging to him like a sin. His necklace is still on. The pick charm resting against his throat like it belongs there and I’m not allowed to notice.
I shouldn’t open the door. I open it anyway.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper.
His eyes track over me. It’s one swift, hungry glance that makes my knees go weak. “Can I come in?” His voice is rough, gravely.
I should say no. I don’t. I step aside and pull the door wide. He walks in, and the air changes with him. The room feels smaller. Like oxygen gets rationed when he’s this close.
I close the door. The click too loud. Dean turns slowly to face me.
“Sadie…” he starts.
“Don’t.” I hold a hand up, because even though I don’t know what he’s about to say, I also don’t trust myself to hear it.
He takes a step closer, ignoring my plea, his gaze locked entirely on me.
“That was a hell of a show,” I try, voice thin. “You played great.”
He doesn’t bite. Doesn’t let me skate. “I’m not here to talk about the show.”
I swallow. “Why are you here?” I try not to stutter.
His eyes flick to my mouth again. Then lower. Then back up. “Because I’ve been trying to be reasonable all day.” His voice quiet. “And I’m done with that.”
My breath catches. “Dean…” I whisper.
He closes the distance. One hand bracing on the door beside my head, caging me in without touching me. The other hangs at his side like he’s fighting the instinct to grab me and doesn’t want me to see how hard. He leans in, so close now that I feel his breath on my cheek.
“I don’t care if this is a bad idea.” His declaration comes out on a growl. “I don’t care if Cherry would kill me. Or if Luc will shove me off a roof. Or if you’re going to hate me tomorrow.”
“Dean, please.” I’m not sure if the words are a plea or a challenge.
His mouth twists. “I’ve had a taste of you, Sadie.” My entire body goes hot. His gaze stays on mine, fierce and wrecked and honest in a way that makes my ribs ache. “And once,” he murmurs, his tongue darting out to swipe over his lower lip like he can still taste me, “is not enough.”
My back presses into the door. My hands are at my sides, clenched so hard my knuckles sting. I should stop this. I should say no. I should shove him away. Instead, my next question comes out like an invitation. “Then what do you want?”
His eyes darken. “Are you really going to make me say it?”
I don’t. I don’t need him to. Because I want it too, I’m just not sure I’m strong enough to survive the answer.
Chapter Fifteen
Dean
Closer
