I pushed out a slow breath and ran a hand down my face, pressing my palm hard against my mouth like I could physically force the thought of her out.
It didn’t work.If anything, it made it worse.
Because now all I could hear was the water.All I could picture was her on the other side of that door.And I didn’t like how quickly my mind filled in the details.
She was fire.That was the only way to describe her.The kind that burned through everything it touched.
She didn’t walk into a room—she altered it.Shifted it.Made people react without even trying.There was something reckless in her.Something sharp and defiant that didn’t bend or soften.
And the way she looked at people—like she saw exactly what they were.And didn’t care.
My grip tightened around the glass.
She brought something out in me.Something I didn’t trust.
The thoughts I had about her weren’t clean or controlled.And that made her dangerous.Made me worse.
I took another slow drink.Grounded myself.Because I knew how this went.
I knew what happened when my mind locked onto something—someone.
Obsession wasn’t new to me.It was something I managed.Contained.Because the last thing I needed was to turn her into something she didn’t ask to be.A fixation.A weakness.A target.
I leaned back into the couch, staring up at the ceiling.
The water shut off down the hall.Silence followed.Then the soft sound of movement.
Fabric.
A door opening.
I took another sip of my drink, letting the moment stretch.
“You’ve got terrible taste in safehouses, Popovich.”
Her voice was dry, unaffected.It seemed like she had recovered remarkably after witnessing a double homicide.
I glanced up.She was standing at the edge of the hallway, hair damp, skin still flushed from the heat of the shower.Wearing one of the shirts from my go kit, because I was nothing if not always sufficiently prepared.It was too big, swallowing her frame, the hem brushing high against her thighs.
Her legs were bare, long.Smooth in a way that made my grip tighten around the glass in my hand.And those damn heels—back on like she hadn’t just stepped out of a shower, and she needed the extra height, the extra edge.
She didn’t.She had enough of both already.
My jaw locked as my gaze dragged up her legs, slow, deliberate, before I forced it higher.
She caught me looking.
Her eyes dipped to her feet, then lifted back to me, one brow arched like she knew exactly what she was doing—and didn’t care.
“There isn’t a reason on earth,” she said, voice dry, “that would have me walking barefoot in this place.”
Her nose scrunched slightly as she glanced around, taking in the room like it offended her.
“You look ridiculous,” I said evenly.
Her lips curved into something resembling a small smile.
“Didn’t realize disposing of bodies was on the schedule tonight.”
