"Okay," I manage, my shoulders slumping in defeat.
He rises smoothly, adjusts the cuff of his jacket, and slips a hand into his pocket. Without another word, he walks out, leaving the door slightly ajar. The silence he leaves behind is immense.
I grab a handful of paper towels from the wet bar and press them lightly against the stain. It's no use. The pale silk has greedily drunk the alcohol, the mark a permanent-looking blotch. I groan, dropping the useless towels on the desk.
A minute passes. Then another. The only sound is the hum of the air conditioning and the frantic beat of my own heart, which hasn't calmed in the slightest. The memory of his mouth on mine is a brand. The feeling of his body, hard and demanding against me, is imprinted on my very bones. That look in his eyes… it wasn't just fierce. It was hungry.
The door clicks open and shut. I turn, expecting to see Catarina with a fresh outfit.
