Page 32 of Charming Villain
Thunder booms, rattling the windows. I glance at the open door, at the swirling sheets of rain beyond it, and wonder if I should scold her for being reckless. Instead, I sigh. “Close the door,” I mutter, stepping into the kitchen and reaching for a dish towel from a nearby drawer. My movements are brisk, but my mind is a storm of conflicting urges. Part of me wants to lecture her about boundaries. Another part wants to rip that sopping T-shirt off and warm her myself.
She shifts the kitten in her arms, juggling it awkwardly so she can nudge the door shut with her foot. Drops of water still cling to her thighs, shimmering in the low light. “I’m sorry,” Gianna apologizes, hugging the cat protectively. “She was hiding near the trash cans. She looked so scared. I couldn’t just?—”
“You think I’m mad about the cat?” I say flatly, tossing her the dish towel. “Dry off before you get sick.”
She catches the towel, her eyes flicking from me to the kitten. Her lips tighten, and she does exactly what I expected—she starts patting the kitten’s wet fur, ignoring her own dripping clothes. My jaw twitches. “I meantyou.”
“She’s freezing,” she murmurs, focusing on the dripping furball. The cat curls into her chest, nestling under the crook of her elbow. For a heartbeat, I see the smallest smile tug at her lips, sad and tender, as if the cat’s the only warm thing in her world. That subtle expression does something to me, something that sours in my stomach because it makes me want to help them both.
I cross the space in two strides, ignoring the way my mind screamsDon’t get closer.I pluck the cat from her arms. She gasps, fear skittering across her face, and I know she thinks I’m about to fling it into the storm or do something worse. That stings more than it should. But I simply hold it at arm’s length, feeling it shiver in my grip.
“Pathetic,” I mutter, but the word lacks its usual bite. Grudgingly, I drag a towel over its trembling body. The cat stiffens, but as soon as the softness of the cloth registers, it starts to relax, pressing its face against the terrycloth. My chest aches at the simple vulnerability of a creature so powerless.
When I finish, I thrust the cat back into Gianna’s waiting arms. She cradles it like a precious thing, a faint flush coloring her cheeks. She’s silent, perhaps from shock that I didn’t banish it into the storm. For a moment, we just stare at each other.
“You can keep it,” I say at last. “But don’t let it get in my way.”
Her eyes widen like she never thought I’d relent so easily. “I— okay,” she breathes, biting her lip. Water trickles from her clothes onto the floor. We both see the droplets. A small pang of guilt twists in my gut:She was out in that storm, rummaging around trash cans, all for a cat.Something about that is both infuriating and heartbreakingly sweet.
I half-turn, intending to walk away. My emotions are a swirling mess. The cat’s presence reminds me too much of how Gianna is also a vulnerable, unwanted stray in my domain. But before I can retreat, she blurts, “Why are you—” She stops, clearly unsure how to phrase it. “Why are you like this?”
I stiffen, turning back to her with a glare. “Likewhat?”
She swallows, the kitten meowing quietly in her arms. “One minute, you want to break me,” she says, voice trembling but courageous. “The next, you’re… different.”
I know what she wants to say.Kind.She’s implying I can be kind. A flash of anger surges in my chest. “You don’t get to analyze me, Gianna,” I murmur, stepping forward and backing her against the counter. The cat hisses softly, sensing the tension and trying to protect her. My mouth twists in a sneer meant to shield my pounding heart. “And you sure as hell don’t get to pick me apart like you know me.”
She lifts her chin defiantly, ignoring the wet strands of hair clinging to her cheeks. “Then tell me what you’re thinking.”
My chest tightens. Gianna looks at me with a dark, challenging gaze. The T-shirt is plastered to her body, the shape of her bra visible beneath the damp fabric. Her lips part, and I remember the taste of them from days ago—soft, warm, trembling. My mind spins with a thousand reasons to walk away: I shouldn’t want her; I shouldn’t kiss her. Yet everything inside me screams to do exactly that.
Unable to contain the surge of need, I close the distance. My hands grip the edge of the counter on either side of her, caging her in. The cat scuttles down from her arms, jumping onto the tile with a faint squeak before scurrying off. Good. I don’t want any distractions. My gaze locks onto Gianna’s flushed face, the water droplets glittering on her skin like tiny crystals in the faint light.
A single heartbeat passes. Then I lower my head and kiss her, a fierce, urgent motion that rips a startled moan from her lips. The taste of her is rain and warmth, the remnants of fear and relief. I crush her to me, ignoring the wet cling of her clothes soaking into mine. My fingers slide into her damp hair, tangling there as if holding her in place is the only way to keep from drowning in the storm inside my chest.
Gianna’s response is immediate and unguarded. She kisses me back with a desperation that echoes my own, her fists clutching my shirt. A shudder runs through me, a potent mix of triumph and vulnerability. Every nerve buzzes with the knowledge that she’s not resisting—she’s meeting me step for step. She wants this as much as I do, and that fact sends a dangerous jolt of satisfaction coursing through my veins.
She gasps into my mouth, and I devour the sound, letting it fuel me. Our bodies press flush together, and the wet fabric between us is no barrier to the building heat. The voice in my head urges me to take more, to slip my hand under her soaked T-shirt, and claim her right here in the kitchen. My mind reels with images: her parted lips, her trembling thighs, the cat cowering somewhere near the door. The thought is almost absurd enough to break the moment.Almost.
But I pull back first, panting, my forehead resting against hers. We’re both breathing hard, water droplets still clinging to her lashes. She blinks up at me, and I see confusion warring with longing, her eyes reflecting the same swirl of chaos I feel in my gut.
The thunder rumbles in the distance. I drag my gaze over her features—her parted lips, her quickening breath, the way her cheeks flush pink in the dim light. God, I want her. I want to strip away her clothes, her defenses, everything that keeps her from being wholly mine. But that lingering shred of sense reminds me:This is not the time.I can’t lose control again, not when I’m already so close to unraveling.
Clearing my throat, I force myself to drop my hands, stepping back. The absence of her warmth stings. She remains pressed against the counter, hair plastered to her cheeks, chest heaving. Her eyes flick open, scanning my face as though searching for answers. I lick my lips, tasting the last trace of her kiss.
“Dry off,” I say, voice ragged. “You’ll get sick.” It sounds like a plea, and maybe it is.
Gianna nods, eyes still trained on me. The hush between us crackles. Part of me wants to lean in again and continue where we left off, but I crush the impulse, stepping aside to give her room. My breathing still hasn’t calmed.
“I’ll put the cat in the laundry room,” she mumbles. “Make her comfortable. If that’s okay?”
A quiet huff escapes me. “Fine.” Of course, it’s fine. I’m not going to kick out a kitten. The realization that I’m letting her bring strays into my house stirs a flicker of self-annoyance.When did I become so soft?
She lingers another second, then turns to go, her bare feet padding across the wet floor. I watch her silhouette vanish into the hallway, the cat tucked safely against her chest once more. The door to the laundry room closes with a soft click, leaving me standing in the kitchen alone.
My mind spins with the reality of what I just did. I kissed her.Again.And I wanted to keep kissing her, to lose myself in the sensation of her body tight against mine. The memory of her gasping for breath, her eyes fluttering shut with something like surrender, hammers at my defenses, demanding more.
Raking a hand through my damp hair, I curse under my breath.I’m such a goddamn fool.Every inch of me roars to take her upstairs, tear off those soaked clothes, and bury myself in her warmth until I drown out the storm of guilt and desire. But I can’t trust that impulse. My life is a vortex of vendettas and half-formed regrets. I have no right to drag her deeper.Yet I already have, haven’t I?
