He should be waiting for me to slip up, but instead, he watches me.
The air between us snaps like electricity.
I roll my eyes to hopefully hide my reaction to my pounding heartbeat. "Because you know how to track me."
He touches my chin, tracing the line of it. My breath hitches for a second.
"Yeah, little ghost. But we both know that’s not the truth. Not all of it anyway, is it?"
He’s just as fucked up about me as I am about him.
He’s supposed to hate me. Even his parents hinted at that.
I can’t look away. I can’t stop myself. My fingers curl into the front of his shirt, dragging him to me. His body presses up against mine, and I crave being closer, connected. Flesh against flesh, mouth against mouth, tongues tangled. Because I’ve never been more attracted to someone in my life.
I don’t know what the hell that says about me.
His hands skate down my sides, rough and possessive, leaving a trail of heat behind.
"How long is the wash cycle?" I whisper.
His low, dark chuckle makes my nipples harden. "Long enough."
I sigh and close my eyes as his lips meet mine.
His kiss isn’t soft—too much wanting, too much need. His hands fist in my messy hair, keeping my mouth locked to his, and I feel it…I feel it.
The way he’s holding back.
The way his control slips through his fingers like sand.
Fuck it. I want to make himlosecontrol. I want to see exactly what happens when Matvei Kopolov snaps.
"The tour," I tell him. "You going to finish giving me the tour?"
“Right.”
I feel a giggle bubbling up because—god help me—he’s kind of cute when he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
“So this is the laundry room. Down the hall are some guestrooms, and upstairs is the bedroom. Our bedroom,” he says in a rush of words.
"That’s great, but I hope you know I’m gonna buy something pink. Maybe lots of pink.”
He makes a face. "Pink?"
"The ultimate feminine color, and it’s my favorite. Don’t judge."
"I don’t want pink in my bedroom." His nose crinkles.
“Challenging your fragile male ego? I thought it wasourroom?”
He growls and pinches my ass.
“Fine then. Creams, golds, neutrals. Is that better? Your whole house is like some kind of control freak manifesto."
He shakes his head. "You’re unbelievable."
I smile at him sweetly, and my stomach growls. Still starving.
