“Two minutes,” he said, stepping past me into the shower.
I grabbed my clothes and slipped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind me and leaning against it. Steam curledaround my bare ankles. My heart was hammering. My skin was still tingling where he’d touched me.
A demon was about to be summoned in the next room, and all I could think about was the way Rocco Palazzo smiled when he meant it.
I was in so much trouble.
Cool air prickled against my damp skin. I set the clothes down on the bed and dropped the towel, using it to squeeze the water from my hair. I dragged my fingers through the tangled mess and sighed. Should have grabbed a comb. I probably looked like a drowned cat.
I reached for the undergarments and paused. Black lace. Of course Rose would pack black lace. I shook my head and slipped them on—the bra and matching underwear fitting like they’d been made for me.
The bathroom door opened behind me.
I turned, and my mouth went dry.
Rocco stood in the doorway, wearing nothing but a towel slung low on his hips and a smile that should have been illegal. His long wet hair was plastered to his shoulders, and droplets of water traced lazy paths down his chest, following the lines of muscle like they had all the time in the world. One clung to the ridge of his collarbone before sliding lower, disappearing beneath the towel’s edge.
I tracked that droplet like my life depended on it.
Every rational thought I’d just gathered in the shower—Balthazar, the shard, the summoning—scattered like startled birds. All I wanted was to close the distance between us, yank that towel away, and drag him back to bed.
His gaze moved over me—slow, deliberate, taking in the black lace and bare skin with an appreciation that made heat pool low in my stomach. A wicked smile curved across his mouth.
“Such a temptress.”
The low rasp of his voice sent a shiver straight down my spine. Heat swelled over my cheeks, and I marveled at how easily he could do this to me. One look. One word. And I was blushing like I hadn’t just spent the last two hours tangled up in him.
Why did he keep doing this to me?
“Get dressed,” I said, my voice coming out far less authoritative than I intended. I turned away and tugged on the jeans before I did something reckless.
They fit perfectly. I frowned, running my hands down the denim. Rose and I were close in size, but not this close. She must have enchanted the clothes and boots to fit. I made a mental note to thank her later—and to ask her why she’d packed lingerie for a demon summoning.
Rocco dropped the towel and winked at me. No shame. No hesitation. Just that infuriating confidence that somehow looked different now—lighter, easier, like the weight he’d been carrying for two years had loosened its grip. The tension that had been carved into every line of his body since the moment he’d walked into that café seemed to have washed away.
Could I have that much of an effect on him? Could one night—one claiming, one consummation of a bond he’d denied for so long—really strip away that much armor?
Or was that just wishful thinking from a woman who’d spent too long wanting to be enough for him?
He grabbed a pair of jeans and pulled them on, then yanked a black T-shirt from the closet and tugged it over his head. It stretched across his shoulders in a way that made me want to peel it right back off.
“I have a feeling magic was used so we’d fit in these clothes.” He smoothed the shirt down, flexing experimentally.
“Probably,” I said, already crossing the room before my brain could talk me out of it. I couldn’t resist. I didn’t want to resist. Ireached up, grabbed the front of that perfectly fitted T-shirt, and kissed him.
He responded instantly—his arms wrapping around me, pulling me flush against his chest, his mouth moving over mine with a hunger that stole the air from my lungs. But there was something else beneath the heat. Something frantic. His hands gripped me too tight. His breath came too fast. He kissed me like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, terrified of the fall.
This was the kiss of a desperate man. A man afraid he was going to lose me.
I pulled back just enough to press my forehead against his. His eyes were closed, his breath unsteady against my lips.
He’d spent two years pushing me away. And now that he’d finally let me in, he was terrified it would all be ripped away before he could hold on.
I cupped his face in my hands. “I’m right here, Rocco.”
His eyes opened. Dark. Vulnerable. Searching mine for a promise I wasn’t sure either of us could keep—not with Balthazar coming, not with Angelo hunting us, not with everything stacked against us.
But I gave it to him anyway.
