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Wrong wrong wrong.
She twisted away and dragged her sleeve over her mouth. Dirty, black feelings grated over her skin, inside and out.
Philip grimaced and set his jaw, fisted his hands. “You just have to get used to me, Stella. You acclimated to that bastard.”
She shoved at his chest, pushing him away. “Don’t ever do that again.”
Heart pounding and hands shaking, she got in her car. By the time she reached the shop, she’d mostly calmed down, but that unclean feeling persisted. She wanted to brush her teeth.
Inside, she located Michael kneeling in the fitting area at an older gentleman’s feet, pinning the hem of his pants. Michael wore jeans and a black T-shirt.
Measuring tape, pincushion, and chalk pencil were in place. She loved him in work clothes. He must have dressed similarly when he designed in New York City, sketching patterns over lighted architect tables and draping cloth over ungrateful mannequins.
As if sensing her, he glanced up, caught sight of her, and smiled.
She started to return his smile, but the bad taste in her mouth reminded her of what had happened in the parking lot. What if Michael kissed her now? She’d get Philip all over him. Disgusting. “Bathroom. I need the bathroom.”
He stood up with a troubled frown. “Back there.”
She ran into the back, spotted the door to the bathroom, and rushed to the sink. After turning on the water, she soaped her hands and scrubbed at her lips and her tongue. She splashed water into her mouth, swished, spit, repeated over and over.
* * *
• • •
Michael opened the bathroom door and watched as Stella rinsed out her mouth like she’d eaten something nasty. Was she sick? His insides twisted as his mind automatically jumped to the worst-case scenarios he was far too familiar with.
The door swung shut behind him as he closed the distance between them and swept his hands down her tense back. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Please, be okay.
For several long moments, the room was silent but for the rush of the water in the sink. A deep frown creased her brow as she watched the water swirl around the drain. Meeting his eyes in the mirror, she cranked the water off and said, “A coworker kissed me.”
Everything inside Michael stilled, and a cold rage spread outward. With the training he did, he wasn’t the kind of person who could pick fights. But he could sure as fuck end them. He would enjoy ending this one. His knuckles cracked as he fisted his hands.
“What’s his name? What does he look like? Where can I find him?” The questions came out in a hard monotone. The motherfucker was going to enjoy himself a trip to the hospital.
She whipped around to face him, her eyes wide. “Why?”
“No one forces you, Stella.”
“Are you planning to do something to him? I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“You just washed your mouth out for a whole minute. Now I’m going to wash his out.” With blood.
She wrung her hands as she searched for words. “I’m okay. As you can see.”
“If you weren’t okay, he’d be a dead man,” he growled.
“Can you drop this? Please?”
He shook his head in disbelief. Someone had touched her, kissed her, stuck his fucking tongue in her mouth. “How can you be so calm about this? Did you want him to kiss you?”
“No, but . . .” She looked away from him. “Maybe there was a time when I did.”
A horrible thought entered his head. “Is he the reason you hired me? You wanted to practice for this guy?”
Her cheeks flushed with color. “M-maybe? He seemed like a good candidate at the time. But I don’t want him anymore, which is ironic because—” She stopped talking with a grimace.
