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His shirt dangling between my fingers, I go to put it in the washing machine, but he’s now in my way. I’m so tense from our touch that I don’t realize it until it’s too late...

I bump up against his chest. It’s like hitting an unbreakable wall at top speed.

Holy shit.

Fabien towers above me, all strength and raw masculine power, and he scowls down. I glare back.

Yes, I’m scared, but I am also turned on. He’s cruel, and it’s painful, but my body still reacts. His attention is all-encompassing. It’s crazy that I’m all he wants, even if it’s just to spite me. Yeah, it’s confusing, but also hot as hell.

“Out of my way, Fabien.”

He slowly steps to the side to let me pass into the laundry. I dump his shirt in the machine and proceed to clean up the rest of his mess. I’m making a point here.

And Fabien watches me. Silently.

As I wander around the penthouse, cleaning up the place, it’s like I have suddenly become hyperaware of my entire body. With his stare burning into me, it’s like I’m performing just for him.

Is he captivated? Why isn’t he stopping me? Why isn’t he saying anything?

Jesus, is he letting me expose how much I still care?

Fabien stands there like a dark shadow in the doorway to the bedroom.

“There,” I announce grandly. “Much better, don’t you think?”

No response.

I point toward the bedroom ensuite behind Fabien.

“I’m going to have a shower,” I say.

He’s in the way. Again.

And then, finally, Fabien speaks.

“Last night won’t happen again. You touching me with the towel.”

“I just want a shower, Fabien.”

“You cleaned that up like you cleaned me out of your life.”

My breath hitches. And he sees.

Point made with that final barb, he steps aside.

I shut the bedroom door behind me, blocking him out. I might be able to survive the presentation tomorrow if I do everything right, but Fabien? He’s something I can’t survive.

Every word he says to me... every look he gives me... they sting.

But what would happen if he stopped hating me for a second? What if he gave whatever passed between us when we touched over the shirt earlier a moment to breathe? That’s the scariest question of all, because even I don’t have an answer.

There’s still something between us. Something unresolved. Something lingering. And I don’t think either of us can admit to it, let alone endure it. I can’t tell him the truth about what happened between us. I don’t think he would believe me even if I did.

I need something to take my mind off it all. Something that isn’t to do with brooding, wounded beasts or corporate acquisitions.

I need to feel like myself again.

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