She shivers.
I freeze with my hands still in her hair, my breath caught in my throat.
"Cold?"
"No." Her voice is quiet, almost a whisper. "Y-Your hands are warm."
I keep working, slower now and more carefully, making sure I don't touch her skin again even though every instinct is screaming at me to do exactly that—to slide my hands from her hair to her shoulders, to feel the curve of her neck under my palms, to lean down and press my mouth to the spot where her pulse beats.
I don't do any of those things.
I finish the last section and her hair falls perfectly down her back—smooth and dark and smelling like my shampoo.
Unable to help myself, I run my fingers through it one more time, testing and making sure I didn't miss anything.
Soft. Perfect. Mine.
"Done."
She doesn't move and neither do I.
We just stay like that—me standing behind her with my hands in her hair, her sitting on my bed in my clothes, both of us breathing too carefully, like we're afraid to break whatever this moment is.
"Thank you," she whispers.
I step back and force myself to move away, force my hands to drop to my sides.
"You should sleep. It's late."
She stands and turns to face me, and we're three feet apart but it might as well be three inches with the way the air feels between us—thick and charged and dangerous.
"Where are you sleeping?"
"Guest room. Or couch downstairs."
"This is your room."
"You're taking it."
"I don't need?—"
"Take the room, Isabella. I'll be fine."
Her jaw tightens and I can see her fighting the urge to argue. "Fine."
We stare at each other and neither of us moves, neither of us speaks, the silence stretching until it feels like something's going to snap.
Then she walks past me and her shoulder brushes mine—just barely, just enough that I feel the warmth of her through my shirt—and I hear her footsteps down the hall followed by a door closing.
Silence.
I stand alone in my room and stare at the spot on my bed where she sat, at the torn emerald dress crumpled on the floor like evidence that Isabella Romano was here in my space, in my clothes, in my head.
I'm in so much trouble.
CHAPTER FOUR
This is fucking torture.
