Even Hotter

I watched him in the mirror as he left the bathroom without a word. His perfect athlete's back disappeared from view. I raised an eyebrow. Oh, so that's how it works here? Just walk away and leave me standing there?

That was not acceptable.

So I snapped the powder jar shut, screwed the lipstick cap back on, and followed him barefoot, with tiny drops of water on my chest that tickled and felt like someone had just pulled me out of a champagne shower.

He was standing in the bedroom, the towel low on his hips, pretending everything was normal. He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Can I help you?” His voice was calm—that tone that pretends he has everything under control—but there was a glint in his eyes that gave him away.

Boy, if you only knew.

I stepped closer. So close that I could see a drop hanging from his collarbone. My hand almost twitched to catch it. For a moment, all that mattered was that tiny bit of skin—and what I could do with it.

His gaze met mine. It wasn't the look of a boss to a trainee. It was a warning: One more step, Cloe, and we'll both forget who we are.

And then... well.

I could tell you how I took the towel off his hips... but let's not spoil it. Let's just say that at some point, the towel was gone. The temperature in the room rose to about the same as in the bathroom after I turned on the hot water. What happened next cannot be described without the letters starting to glow. Suffice it to say that in that room, on that bed, it wasn't a battle for dominance. It was the meeting of two people who knew what they wanted and were willing to give everything to make sure the other got what they wanted.

And yet – for me, it was also a game. A very, very hot game.

And at some point, someone—maybe me—quietly said, “Oh, damn...”

When I got back to my room, my makeup was a mess. My hair? A complete disaster. Undoable.

And Alexander? He was probably still lying there, staring at the ceiling and wondering what kind of hurricane had just hit him.