He stepped closer, dangerously close, and my breath hitched. Before I could think, he was behind me, one hand brushing my hip, the other guiding the rag in my hand against the counter.
“Like this,” he murmured, pressing just enough to make me notice the weight of his body behind me. My pulse spiked, heat pooling in places it shouldn’t. I tried to focus on the task, on the cleaning. But the way his chest pressed against my back, theway his fingers brushed mine as he guided the motion… it was impossible.
“Wh-what are you doing?” I sputtered, my hands frozen on the rag.
Felix’s smirk widened, his breath warm against my ear. “Helping,” he said, pressing just a little closer. “You’ve got the technique all wrong. Let me show you how to do it properly.”
I swallowed hard, heat pooling in my chest. “I-I don’t need help!” I protested, though my voice wavered, betraying my nerves.
“I know you don’t need help,” he chuckled, pressing closer behind me. “I know you don’t need help. Yet here I am. Seems unfair not to take advantage, don’t you think?”
My heart raced, thrumming against my ribs like a wild bird desperate to escape. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, felt the tension thickening the air around us, and it made my already chaotic thoughts spiral further out of control.
“Felix…” I murmured, voice shaky, barely loud enough to count as protest. My hands trembled on the rag, my pulse hammering like a drum in my skull. This was insane. Dangerous. Wrong. And yet I couldn’t stop noticing.
He chuckled softly, that low, dangerous sound that made my pulse spike even more. “Relax,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my neck. “Just work with me.”
Felix moved my hand, his fingers covering mine as he guided the rag along the countertop. My stomach tightened at the contact, and I couldn’t decide whether to pull away or lean into him.
His other hand rested lightly on my hip, steadying me, pressing just enough that I could feel the weight of his body behind me. Every brush of his skin against mine sent a jolt through me, making my thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm.
I tried to focus on the counter, on the crumbs, on the scrubbing, but it was impossible. My heart was hammering, my pulse racing, and every nerve ending in my body seemed to be screaming at me to notice him, to notice how close he was.
Heat pooled low in my belly, sharp and insistent, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from making some sound I would immediately regret. My hands moved with his guidance, but my mind was a chaotic mess of disbelief, attraction, and frustration.
I wasn’t supposed to feel like this. I wasn’t supposed towanthim to be this close. And yet every movement, every touch, made it harder to pretend that I wasn’t already lost.
And just like that, he pulled away. My hand dropped slightly, the rag wobbling against the counter. My pulse felt like it had been ripped in two, the sudden emptiness where his body had been almost unbearable.
“See?” he said, voice low and teasing, a smirk in every syllable. “Nothing wrong with a little guidance.”
I swallowed hard, trying to steady my racing thoughts, but it was useless. My chest still throbbed, my hands still tingled from where his fingers had brushed mine, and my mind refused to cooperate.
I leaned back slightly, my hands still shaking, heart hammering in my chest. Every nerve screamed, every thought was a mess, and I couldn’t tell if I was angry, scared, or something else entirely. One thing was certain: living here with him was going to be far more dangerous—and far more distracting—than I ever imagined.
Chapter 8
Felix
The city felt different at two in the morning. Quieter, sure, but not peaceful. The kind of quiet that made you think something was waiting just out of sight, teeth bared. I knew better than most that sometimes, it was.
I tugged my jacket tighter across my chest, though it did little to hide the blood spattered down the front of my shirt. Dried now, stiff against my skin. My hands still smelled like iron and smoke, no matter how many times I’d scrubbed them raw in the sink before leaving. Didn’t matter. You don’t walk away from work like mine clean. Not really.
We’d gotten what we needed out of the bastard—every last word squeezed out of him like juice from a rotten fruit. By the end, he was begging us to stop, but mercy isn’t in my line of work. Not when lives and loyalty are on the table.
I shoved the key into the lock of the old brownstone, jaw tight as the lock clicked. The familiar creak of the front door gave wayto silence, the kind that pressed in on me heavier than the night outside.
The smell of blood followed me in, clinging to my clothes, to my skin, to everything I was. It blended with the mildew in the walls, the faint rot of old wood that I wasn’t sure any amount of bleach could cover.
I shut the door and stood in the dark for a long moment, letting the silence press down, waiting for my pulse to slow. It never did. Nights like this carved themselves into me, piece by piece, until I wondered if there’d be anything left when it was all over.
That’s when I caught it—the faint, steady rhythm of soft snores drifting from the living room. My jaw unclenched. Tessa lived here now, too. I would sometimes forget that when I was neck deep in work.
I stood there longer than I should have, listening to the rise and fall of her breathing. Something steady in a world that never was. Something I didn’t deserve.
I stepped closer, careful not to wake her. She was curled up on the couch, knees tucked to her chest, the thin blanket barely clinging to her shoulder. The sofa was lumpy, old, the kind of thing that left your back aching after an hour.
For a long moment, I just stood there. Watching. Listening. Her chest rose and fell in that slow, steady rhythm, so calm it made something twist in mine.
