Andria's POV
"I wasn't staring," I lied quickly, jerking my eyes away from his chest and focusing on the wall behind him.
"Really?" Damon's smirk deepened as he leaned against the bathroom doorway, water still glistening on his skin, some droplets falling from his chest to his torso. "Because if you stare any harder, you might just set me on fire."
"I wish I could," I muttered, yanking my suitcase handle up with more force than necessary. "I would have so that you would stop talking."
He chuckled, low and slow, like he was savoring my irritation. "You're feisty this morning. Must be the Tristan effect."
I froze. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"That look in your eyes when you said you woke up in his bed…" He tilted his head, assessing me like I was a puzzle he intended to solve piece by piece.
"I know it wasn't your choice, but the fact you didn't claw his face off tells me something." He sniffed his nose and drew closer to where I was standing, close to the wardrobe.
