He scowls.
God, I love the guy’s grumpiness more than I should. I’m a certified masochist when it comes to him, it seems. Thank you very much.
He steps in, clad in black shorts and a gray T-shirt that hugs his bulging muscles, his biceps flexing when he leans against the wall next to the door and crosses his arms.
Vaughn looks devastating even in loungewear and with damp hair framing his forehead. It’s the way he carries himself—always composed elegance wrapped in control, his expression cool, locked behind the mask he wears so well.
“Where is this place?” I ask, my voice raspier than usual. “Somewhere on the island? How did you get me here?”
“Since you’re awake,” he says in his usual bored, calm tone, ignoring all of my questions. “Off you go.”
I point at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s two in the morning. You can’t possibly expect me to leave.”
“I absolutely do. Taxis run twenty-four hours a day.”
“You’re so heartless. I almost died and all you do is kick me out?”
“It’s not my fault you threw yourself off a cliff, Yulian.” His tone drops, rough and sharp, every word coiled tight like he wants to choke me.
“It kind of is.”
“Excuseme?”
“I had to prove myself to you in some way. You’re kind of hard to impress.”
His upper lip lifts almost in a snarl before he breathes in and out audibly, stops, then smooths his expression. “You threw yourself off a cliff because I’m…hard to impress?”
“Uh-huh. It was a gamble to see if you’d give me a chance, and I won, by the way.”
“You won?”
“Yeah, I didn’t die.”
“Because Isavedyou.”
“Still didn’t die. Method doesn’t matter, only the result does.”
“Is…your life worth that little to you? Why do you not care whether you live or die?” He exhales a long, tense breath. “Actually, don’t answer that. Just forget it—and leave.”
He starts toward the door, but I’m jumping up from the bed. My foot gets tangled in the duvet, and I lose my balance, but I catch myself, then jog toward him and grab his wrist just when he’s about to leave.
Because fuck that. I won’t allow him to.
Not now.
Notever, actually.
But let’s not think about that part, because the idea of being in the uncertain for a long time kind of short-circuits my brain.
I haul Vaughn against me. He resists at first, but I’m able to slam him against the wall, not only due to strength—though I use it—but mainly because the moment his eyes drag over me, he turns his head to the side and stops fighting.
The sharp muscles in his jaw flex, and his hand balls into a fist.
“Put something on. I asked the hotel staff to place fresh clothes in the closet,” he speaks from between gritted teeth.
That’s when I realize he’s lost the fight because he saw me in my full naked glory.
Something inside mesnaps.
