“Let me help.”
“No.”
That comes out too fast.
She does not flinch.
“You are pushing yourself too hard.”
Her eyes flick down on the word “hard.” It was quick, but I definitely saw it.
Obviously, this towel isn't doing a good job of hiding anything.
“That has been noted by several people today.”
“And yet you are still pushing.”
She takes a step deeper into the room.
"Adrian, you're supposed to be recovering."
“You should be in your room,” I say.
“I was. Most of the day, in fact," she says in that sultry voice.
“You should go back.”
That damn sexy pout deepens.
"No," she says simply, shocking me.
There is no anger in it. No sharpness. No defensive bite.
Just decision.
That is worse.
I am completely screwed.
I straighten as much as my side allows. “Unlock the door.”
“No.”
My jaw tightens. “Caterina.”
“Adrian,” she replies, my name soft and impossibly intimate in the quiet room.
She stops a few feet from me, close enough that I can smell the faint scent of soap from her skin. Close enough that I can see the pulse beating steadily and fast at the base of her throat.
She knows what she's doing.
“You should not be in here.”
“Probably not,” she agrees. “I know exactly what you’re going to say.”
“Good. Then save me the trouble.”
“No.” She toys with the belt of her robe. I find myself wishing she would loosen it. Just a fraction. “I thought last night was a mistake.”
