LAYLA'S POV
I stand frozen.
I can't breathe. I can't think. My heart is pounding so loud it echoes in my ears.
Kieran is here.
And not just here—he's fresh out of the shower. He has water still dripping down his sculpted chest. His towel is slung low on his hips, and his unreadable gaze is fixed entirely on me.
I want the floor to swallow me whole.
His scent—already overwhelming—is ten times stronger now. Woodsy, dark, masculine. It wraps around me like a rope I can't escape.
He takes a step closer, and my hands tighten around the hoodie I was just caught sniffing like a lovesick fool.
I open my mouth to speak—to explain, to apologize, to run—but I can't get a single word out.
Then he says it.
His voice is deep and low.
"You like my scent that much?" he asks me.
I die a little inside.
