I close the distance between us, and she instinctively steps back. I don't give her the space she wants. "You're right," I say. "Maybe we don't mean anything to each other."
I take another step forward. She backs away again until her back hits the closet behind her. Her breath catches, chest rising and falling like she is trying to keep control but failing.
I can feel the warmth of her skin, and for a second, the silence between us says everything words can't.
Her familiar scent fills my nostrils. A delicate blend of warm vanilla and fresh jasmine. We are so close that I can make out the outline of her lips. She looks up at me with those hazel eyes, and flashes from that night at the chapel cloud my mind.
The sound of her moans, the way her fingers had dug into my muscles, the softness of her skin against my touch.
I lean closer, and she becomes flushed. This time, it isn't because she is angry.
"We don't mean anything to each other, and yet I remember how you told me to fuck you that night. How you screamed my name. And here you are, Gianna, in my home, asking me to protect you."
I whisper into her ear, and she lets out a breath.
My eyes move to her neck, and I trace my finger across her neckline. She grows rigid under my touch, and the anger I feel slowly disappears, replaced by something else. Want, desire. I want to feel the taste of her lips. I want her to moan and call my name like that night.
I lean in, my lips hovering over hers, when she places her hand on my chest to create distance. "Stop," she breathes, walking toward the door. She opens it, but I am already moving. Already too close.
I close the door shut with one hand. She spins around, startled. My hand hits the door beside her head with a dull thud, caging her in.
She inhales sharply, annoyed, maybe, or even affected. I can't tell which anymore. "What are you doing?" she breathes, searching my eyes.
"Tell me you don't think about that night," I say, voice low, throat tight. "Look me in the eyes and lie."
She shoves me again, but I don't budge. I lean in until our lips are a breath apart. I can feel her body vibrating with tension, rage, restraint, and want. I don't touch her, not yet. I let the silence settle between us.
"Don't," Gianna warns, her voice too rough. I reach for her waist, slowly. She slaps my hand away and tries to duck under my arm, but I catch her. She twists, nails digging into my shoulder. I hold her tighter, our breathing ragged. She slaps at my chest and pushes against me again.
We struggle — hands, arms, limbs in a brief chaotic contact — until I have her flush against me.
Our faces are close again. Her lips part. She is breathing hard, eyes wild. She grabs a fistful of my shirt. For a second, I think she is going to push me away again. Instead, she just stands there, trembling.
"Stop it, Finn," she breathes hard, and I look away from her, taking a deep breath.
I have to leave. I take a step back, and she puts her hand up. "Don't come any closer," she says, biting her bottom lip — and that simple act makes me want to abandon whatever gentleman is left in me.
I take her hand and place the room's key card in her palm. "This is where you'll be staying. Don't let anyone in unless it's me."
She looks from the key card to my eyes, then around the room. "Declan is allowing me to stay?" she asks, surprise and relief swimming in her voice.
"Yeah, you don't have to worry about Vito."
"Did he say why he's allowing me to stay?" she asks again. I sigh.
"I convinced him because I wanted you to stay."
Gianna blinks and says nothing, and my eyes go to her lips again. I swallow hard and look away. I reach behind her and open the door. "If you need anything, call me," I say, stepping out of her room.
She nods, avoiding my eyes. I begin to walk away when she stops me. "I need my phone and my suitcase."
"Alex will bring them up to you," I answer, and she closes the door.
Instead of returning to work, I enter my room next to hers and rest my head on the door as I close it shut. Thoughts of Gianna keep slipping into my mind. It is always Gianna. Always her.
"What are you doing, Finn? What is wrong with you?" I scold myself before peeling off the door.
I take my phone out and text Alex to take her things to her before collapsing on my bed. I undo more of my shirt's buttons because I feel hot. The sun has disappeared from the sky, and the night breeze slides through my windows, but I still feel hot.
