Fiona Robertson
Thalted before my apartment door, my gaze glued to the worn edges of the keyhole while my heart raced. Everything inside me screamed to deny him entry. Yet I knew it would be futile. Alessandro was like a cloud of poison gas—unstoppable, destroying everything that stood in his way.
"Carter isn’t even in town, is he?" He leaned casually against the wall beside my apartment door, watching me with a smile so knowing I almost felt foolish.
I shut my eyes, clenched my teeth. "Don’t you already know?" I muttered as I pulled the key from my pocket.
"Yes, I do," he replied with a devilish grin. "I was just being polite."
"You’re a ruthless bastard."
A faint smirk flickered at his lips. "That I am."
The door opened, and it felt like I had invited the darkness itself across the threshold. Alessandro stepped slowly into my apartment, moving with that effortless certainty that was so uniquely his. Trivialities like shyness or restraint seemed nonexistent to him. His sheer size alone commanded authority. His white shirt stretched slightly over his shoulders, a few buttons undone at the top, revealing a glimpse of his sun-kissed skin. I wanted to study him as thoroughly as a priceless painting—he was the perfect blend of dangerous and irresistible.
His gaze swept through the room with the same razor-sharp focus he’d had in my office, as if he were dissecting every corner of my privacy. I crossed my arms over my chest, more to givemyself some semblance of strength. This was my apartment. My domain. And I wouldn’t let him take command here.
Before he stepped further inside, he slowly took off his shoes. I leaned against the doorframe and watched him. It wasn’t the gesture itself, but the way he did it—almost meticulous, as if he had an invisible protocol for how to enter someone else’s home. A perfectionist through and through. No man just took off his shoes unprompted. No one except him.
I smirked. "You’re unbelievable."
"Why?" He straightened, his gaze locking onto mine.
"How can someone with such a filthy nature place so much value on cleanliness at the same time?"
"It’s not just my nature that’s filthy," he murmured suggestively as he brushed past me. The heat radiating from him, so close, made my skin prickle.
"I need to shower and change," I declared with a hint of sarcasm, raking my eyes over him. "Thanks to you, I’m not wearing panties anymore."
His smile was so smug I was certain he didn’t regret a single second of his impulsive actions. He let his gaze drag provocatively over my body before answering with a quirked brow: "As it should be."
Rolling my eyes, I turned toward the bathroom. "Just stay here and… do whatever it is you do when you’re alone."
"Alone?" His tone was low, almost offended, and then I heard his footsteps behind me. "Do you really think I’ll just sit around while you shower?"
I stopped and turned to face him. He stood just a few steps away—too close, as always. His eyes glittered with amusement. "Alessandro, I need ten minutes. Fifteen, tops. Do you think you can handle that?" I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to appear composed even as his gaze dissected me.
He stepped closer until barely any space remained between us."I’ll tell you what I can’t handle: sitting in your living room, thinking about all the things I’d rather do with you in the shower."
"What are the odds it’ll actually just be a shower if you follow me into the bathroom?"
He slowly rolled up his sleeves, as if preparing for a challenge. His grin widened. "Zero percent."
"Then you’re staying here," I countered with unmistakable emphasis, spun on my heel, and disappeared into the bathroom.
The hot water rushed over my skin, wrapping me in thick steam. I closed my eyes, trying to shake off thoughts of him—the man who, just meters away, was already moving through my apartment as if it were his own.
The bathroom door opened.
"Alessandro?" I pulled the shower curtain halfway across, peering through the mist. He lounged in the doorway, arms crossed, as if he’d just happened to wander in. A crooked grin twitched at his lips.
"Hiding?" he asked, amused, his gaze flickering to my hands, clenched white-knuckled around the fabric. "It’s only been fifty minutes since I last saw your tits. I remember exactly how they look." He took half a step closer, his smile broadening. "I briefly considered letting you have your privacy. But… decisions that aren’t fun were never my thing."
I opened my mouth to retort—when his phone vibrated in his pocket. With a glance at the screen, his expression darkened.
"Shit. Giovanni." His voice had dropped, all playfulness gone. "This won’t take long." Without closing the door, he answered the call and vanished from sight.
Relieved, I turned back under the water. But then I looked down—and froze. The water streamed over my thigh. Over thin, reddened lines, sharply etched, as if they had always belonged there. An R.
