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I've just never had to face that little voice until today. Until Zion Carmichael was standing in front of me, telling me what to do, and I didn't hate it.
"You aren't your mom, Kenz," Olive says softly, reading me like a book. She knows all my secrets, all my fears. They spill out between us and have since the day we met. "You're allowed to let yourself be loved."
She's right. I know she is. But where do I even freaking start when I'm starting withhim? Zion. The man who set me on fire with a single touch.
I think I already know the answer to that question. I start with removing my dress and setting him ablaze too. Because what's underneath it is the only weapon in my arsenal at the moment. And I think I might be declaring war.
"Go get him, Kenz!" Olive hisses as I step out of the bathroom five minutes later dressed in nothing but my bikini, my heels, and a fresh coat of lip gloss. Surprisingly, Zion isn't standing outside the door.
I set off to find him, my cheeks blazing as I squeeze past small groups of people dressed the same way I am. Some smile at me. Others don't even look in my direction. I hear the whispers as I pass by, though. I make it all the way across the living room before a blonde pixie pops up in front of me.
"Damn, girl," Bianca Callaghan, a photographer who works a lot of the same events I attend, whistles, a giant smile on her face. Like Olive, she's one of the few people here I'd count as an actual friend. There's nothing fake about her. "You look stunning." She brings her camera up, waiting for me to pose before she starts snapping photos. "These are going to look so good on your feed!"
My smile threatens to wobble at the thought of putting them up for everyone to see. It's one thing to wear a bikini to a pool party. But wearing one on social media for the whole world to stare at my body? I'm still not used to the fact that people pay me to wear their clothes or pose in their magazines or to be seen at their parties. I am nowhere near prepared to strip down on the 'Gram.
"Put those on your social media and I'll turn your gorgeous ass red, angel baby."
I jerk my gaze up to find Zion standing behind Bianca, glowering. His eyes lock on mine, possessive jealousy stamped across every line of his face. Oh, he's big mad.
Why do I like that so much?
"Um, who are you to tell her what she can and can't put on her social media?" Bianca lowers her camera, ready to wade into battle on my behalf. And then she catches sight of the giant looming over her shoulder. "Zion Carmichael."
"Bianca." He doesn't even look in her direction. His gaze doesn't deviate from mine an inch. "You didn't tell me this was a pool party, Makenzie."
"You didn't ask."
I purposefully left that part out. It was a brat move, but I wanted to watch him squirm a little. Except…now I'm the one squirming. Because he's looking at me like he wants to fuck me up against the wall again.
"You didn't mention that you'd be half naked either."
"It's a bikini, Zion." I roll my eyes.
His eyes climb down my body, taking in every dip and curve and roll. I don't hide them. Two minutes ago, I wanted to flee back into the bathroom. But with his eyes on me, I don't feel awkward or out of place in the retro two-piece. I feel…powerful. Sexy.
Good Lord, this man is a deadly weapon.
"Believe me," he says wryly. "I'm well aware."
"She looks gorgeous in it," Bianca says, her voice firm, as if she's daring him to disagree. I don't know how they know each other, but she clearly knows enough about him to know he's a pain in the butt.
"Oh, absolutely. That fucking bikini is the sole reason I won't be able to walk out of here anytime soon," he growls.
"Oh." The stubborn lights in Bianca's eyes wink out, replaced by humor. "I guess I'll leave the two of you to sort that out then." She laughs quietly before dancing forward to kiss the air beside my cheek. "Good luck, girlfriend."
She disappears into the crowd, leaving me and Zion alone in a little bubble of space no one seems willing to fill. Is it just my imagination or is everyone here giving him a wide berth?
"You know Bianca?"
"Not well. Met her a few times on jobs."
"Oh." I bite my lip. "I guess you probably know quite a few people here. You've probably worked with a lot of them."
"Worked with a few."
Did he look at them the same way he looks at me? The possibility has jealousy crawling up my throat. I swallow it back, refusing to ask. His life isn't my business. If he slept with half the women in here, it wouldn't be my business.
But I hate the thought anyway.
