When I breathe, I smell him. From where I stand, I see every angled muscle. He runs a hand through his black hair, messing it up in a way that makes him look younger.
He sighs as my eyes meet his. “You caught me off guard tonight. I didn't expect you to be so...willing to participate.”
I blink. “That's why you went cold? Because I was being a good company? That makes no sense.”
“It doesn’t.” His eyes flicker to my lips before darting back up, and there's something going on here he’s not telling me. “And partly because I found myself enjoying our conversation more than I should have.”
The air between us shifts, thickens. I'm suddenly aware of the heat radiating from his bare chest, of the fact that we're alone in this massive house in the middle of the night.
“Why shouldn't you enjoy talking to me?” I ask, my voice softer now.
He doesn't answer immediately, his eyes tracing over my face like he's seeing it for the first time. “Because it makes things... complicated.”
“Things are already complicated.” I lick my dry lips, noticing how his gaze drops to follow the movement. “I'm here. You're here. We're stuck in this situation together.”
“You make it sound so appealing.”
“I'm just being honest. Neither of us chose this, but we can choose how we handle it.” I have to tilt my head back to look him in the eyes. “And I choose basic decency. Equal ground. As much honesty as our circumstances allow.”
“Equal ground,” he repeats. “I can do that.”
We're standing too close. I can see the subtle variations of gray in his eyes, the tiny scar cutting through his left eyebrow, the dark stubble that's grown in since he shaved this morning. My body hums with awareness, a pull.
“We should establish some ground rules,” I say, trying to sound strict despite the warmth pooling in my belly. “Things that will make this arrangement work better for both of us.”
“Such as?” His eyes haven't left mine.
“Communication. If something's bothering you, tell me instead of shutting down. Respect. No more treating me like an inconvenience.” I swallow hard.
“I can do that.” His hand moves, fingers accidentally brushing against mine where they rest on the counter. It's barely a touch, but it sends electricity up my arm.
“I—” The word sticks in my throat as I feel a shiver go down my spine. “I think it's necessary.”
My heart pounds traitorously in my chest. I should step back. I should make some cutting remark, reestablish the boundaries I just claimed to want. Instead, I stay rooted to the spot, caught in his gravity.
“Necessary, yes,” he whispers, and his gaze drops to my lips. This time, it doesn’t move away, and there’s something in his breathing, a laboring of it, that matches the breathlessness I feel in his proximity.
I almost lean into his touch, almost close the final distance between us.
But then reality crashes back in. This is Agafon Letvin. The man who looked at me like I was nothing just hours ago. The man who, despite everything, makes my body react in ways I can't control. The longer I stay here, the more I’d lose sight of my anger, the more I’d wilt in his presence, the more I’d burn and long for his touch.
If I don’t get out of here now, I might end up making a decision I’ll regret.
I step back abruptly, breaking the spell. “I should go back to bed. It's late.”
Something like disappointment flashes across his face before the mask comes back down. He straightens and steps back, putting distance between us. “Of course.”
Back in my room, I collapse onto the bed, my body humming with unfulfilled tension. Sleep seems even more impossible now, but for entirely different reasons.
I grab my pillow and cuddle into it, groaning into the darkness.
How am I supposed to maintain any kind of boundary with Agafon when my body betrays me at the first glimpse of his bare chest? How am I supposed to demand respect when I nearly melted at his touch?
I squeeze my eyes shut, but all I see is the intensity in his gray eyes as he looks at me, the way his voice drops when he says my name, the heat of his skin near mine.
I'm in so much trouble.
Chapter 8 - Agafon
