And absolutely, soaking wet.
“You’re early,” I manage to choke out.
"I’m on time," he replies. "We're on the clock, Bella."
"I would have met you downstairs."
"I'm here now."
"Yes, I can see that. That's the problem."
His brow lifts a fraction. "I wasn't aware my presence was a problem."
You have absolutely no idea what your presence is doing to my carefully compartmentalized existence right now.
"You need to wait downstairs." My voice cracks at the exact wrong time. "I'll be down in twenty minutes."
"I can wait inside."
"No!"
The refusal is too fast and too fierce. His eyes narrow and I know I just did something that few people dare to do to him.
I told him no.
"Why?" he asks quietly as his hand rises up to take my chin between his fingers. "Are you hiding something, Ms. Creminelli?"
My heart stops, and then starts again, pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat, my wrists, the tips of my fingers and between my legs from the kiss of his skin on mine.
Hidden behind me in the apartment is a six-year-old boy with his father's eyes and his father's stubbornness. And I won’t let his father’s killer see him.
"I don't have to explain a fucking thing to you. This is my home, and you don't get to stand in my doorway and demand justifications for my boundaries."
"Boundaries." He tastes the word with amusement.
I know. It’s a funny thing talking about boundaries while his hand is gripping my chin and I’m standing in front of him in nothing but a wet towel.
But I’ll be goddamned if I let him keep the upper hand.
Recklessly, I step forward into the space between us that should be staying empty and safe. My bare feet cross the threshold of my own door until I'm standing so close I can smell his cologne.
I don't care that I'm wet and dripping and practically naked. I don't care that he's fully dressed and I'm exposed. I don't care about any of it except making him get as far from Anthony as I can.
"Go downstairs." My palm lands flat against his chest, soaking the fine fabric of his shirt with a dark handprint over his heart, and I push. "Now. I will be down shortly."
He remains fixed in place like a mountain. I press harder until I can feel his heartbeat through the wet fabric. It’s faster than I expected, but it’s still steady compared to mine.
Then, as if to prove that he won’t just let me win either, he steps closer and leans in closer. All spaces disappear between us, and I shift slightly to the side to block him from seeing anything inside of my apartment.
And in the process, my shoulder brushes against his jaw.
His stubble is rough against my bare, wet skin. The brush is light and innocent. But it makes my heart beat a mile a minute. My breasts tingle, and suddenly the towel feels too rough on my skin. The urge to step even closer and press my body against him is almost impossible to resist.
But I force myself to stay still.
Slava turns his head, slowly and deliberately, because I know he felt the same damn thing and he's trying to figure out just what to do about it.
His eyes narrow. His jaw clenches. And we stare at each other.
