It’s a kiss that’s barely a kiss, a brief glimpse of a touch that ends when Falco tightens his grip on my shoulders and holds me away at arm’s length.
“Go and take a shower. You need to sober up.”
Irritation swells in my chest as he doesn’t even acknowledge the kiss and warmth stings behind my eyes. “Bet you say that a lot,” I snap. “Who would ever try to kiss you sober?”
Something flickers in Falco’s eyes as I pull away from him, a look that’s so subtle and soft that it drags my attention back to him, but the look is gone before I can decipher it through the drunken haze fogging my mind.
This is how I end the night.
Death nearly took me.
My friends were not my friends at all, and my handsome bodyguard is nothing more than a stone statue.
Stomping down the short hall into the bathroom doesn’t grant me the privacy I expect, though, because for some reason Falco follows.
“What are you doing?”
“I told you I wasn’t letting you out of my sight.”
“You literally just told me to shower.”
“It’s right behind you.”
“I’m not going to shower with you here!” I glare at him, eyes wide. He’s got to be kidding.
“I’ll turn my back.”
“You’ll shut the door!”
Falco stands in the doorway and leans against the door frame, his arms crossed at his chest. “After you just slipped away from me at the bar, there are no doors closed between us until I can trust you. I’ll turn my back.”
He’s actually serious.
Fine.
Two can play at that game.
Glaring at him, I grasp the straps of my dress. Just as I slip them down from my shoulders, Falco turns his back and faces the hallway.
The dress pools down at my ankles and I step out of it, wobbling slightly and making as much noise as I can.
At the same time, I remove my underwear and snap the elastic of my panties against my skin, snap the elastic of my strapless bra as I remove it and dump it in the sink, and even groan as I loudly kick off my shoes.
He doesn’t move.
It almost doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.
Then I’m standing in a small, unfamiliar bathroom, completely naked, with Falco literally three feet away.
It’s as surreal as this entire night.
The urge to taunt him rises, but rather than pushing at him to start an argument I turn on the shower and wince.
“You’re right, I do need a shower,” I mutter. “Need to wash off what it felt like to touch you.”
Falco doesn’t react. Of course he doesn’t.
Rolling my eyes, I climb into the shower and tug at the floral curtain hanging limply from the metal frame.
