I bolt for the closet, fumble with the lock, and throw myself inside. I try to wrench the door shut behind me—he catches it mid-swing, palm splayed, his murderous eyes locked on mine.
“You answered my phone?” he snarls.
Pretending innocence would be ideal. It’s a shame his blood-thirsty expression says he already knows the truth.
I lift my chin, ignore the arrhythmia, and retreat.
He prowls forward. Menacing. Unhurried. “What did Eliseo have to say?”
Water trails down his chest in slow rivulets, catching on ridges of muscle, disappearing into terrycloth barely clinging to the territory where modesty should begin.
He’s herding me toward the floor-to-ceiling window at the back of the barren wardrobe, each step corralling me deeper, past empty shelves and bare hanging rails, until the closet becomes a cage.
“Isla,” he warns, closing in. “What did Eliseo say?”
My ass hits the cold glass. My back follows.
Then he’s there—looming, seething—all heat and restraint and the sharp promise of retaliation.
I drag in a breath. Realign my softening spine. “He broke into my apartment. He stole my cat.”
His mouth thins. Nostrils flare.
God,how I ache to scream at how my heart takes those reactions as a sign of concern and not contempt.
“Now do you understand the situation?” He leans in, the question silk-wrapped spite. “I doubt your cat will greet him the way your eager pussy welcomed me.”
Mortification cleaves me wide open.
I slap him.
Wild. Instinctive.Stupid.
He jerks back, his eyes narrowing to slits. He grabs my wrists, slamming them to the glass above my head, caging me between his body and the window. “As much as I’ve tolerated your tantrums, this is where it stops.”
“I’ll scream,” I seethe.
“I assure you the crew have turned a blind eye to far worse.”
I don’t want to believe him, but the evidence is stacked—my abduction, his outbursts, Eliseo’s threats.
I twist beneath the weight of him, trying to wrench free.
That’s when I feel it. The rigid length of his cock against my abdomen.
Not deliberate. Not forced.
Just there. Real. And utterly damning.
My body responds like a traitor. Vibrating and desperate.
“It was a mistake to taunt me while half-dressed.” His jaw continues to tick as his gaze drops between us, taking in my gaping robe, the thick material parting enough to reveal the swell of my breasts.
“Believe me, it wasn’t on purpose.”
“No?” Those harsh eyes return to mine. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”
“Because you’re projecting.” I struggle against his hold. “I’m not the duplicitous one here. My clothes are soaked, and I already told you, wearing yesterday’s suit will be a red flag.”