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Every emotion I’ve ever tried to suppress crashes into that single kiss—frustration, desire, irritation, the restless need that’s been clawing at me all day.

She tastes exactly as I remember.

Maybe even better.

God, she’s beautiful.

And the scent of her is intoxicating, curling itself around my senses until nothing else exists.

The towel she’d been clutching so carefully slips from her fingers as both arms circle my neck. Rising onto her toes without hesitation, she melts into me as though being this close is the most natural thing in the world.

Our mouths move against each other in a relentless battle for control, neither willing to surrender, each kiss only drawing us deeper. Her fingers disappear into my hair, tightening their grip as she pulls me impossibly closer, leaving no space between our bodies.

I hadn’t realized how desperately I wanted this.

How much I missed her.

That same overwhelming feeling—finally—from the night we spent together crashes over me again, so fierce that every rational thought in my head ceases to exist.

I have no logical explanation for why I came here.

I never made the decision.

My body did, like it had known what waited behind this door and refused to settle for anything less than another taste of her.

“Selene, I want to talk to you,” I murmur, brushing her lips.

The sound of my voice seems to snap her back to reality. She tears herself away so abruptly that the warmth of her body disappears all at once.

“Zayn.”

Turning her back to me, she fumbles with the towel, tightening it at her chest as though the thin piece of fabric could keep me at a distance. As though it could stop me from touching her again if I decided I wanted to.

Something is wrong.

The shift in her tone is unmistakable, exactly like that morning.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Right.

The same reaction.

“Selene…”

“I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.” This time she faces me, meeting my eyes despite the uncertainty flickering across her features. “But I assure you, I don’t get drunk and spend the night with every man I work with.”

Every man.

So there’s no difference between me and anyone else she’s ever worked with.

I simply happened to be the lucky bastard who caught her on a night when she’d had too much to drink and wasn’t thinking clearly.

“I’d like us to keep things professional,” she says quietly, her voice growing so faint it nearly disappears. “And for both of us to respect the boundaries we never should’ve crossed in the first place.”

The words barely have time to settle before someone knocks.

Not at the apartment’s front door.