Josie
I tried hard not to faint on the spot.
One second, it was just me, the quiet hum of the air conditioner, and the thick silence of Varen's room—and the next, he appeared. Towering in the doorway. Dripping wet. A single white towel slung dangerously low around his waist.
I closed my eyes. Tightly.
Maybe if I shut them long enough, I could make time rewind. Undo everything. His rejection. My accusations. The damn locked door. But it was no use. I could feel his presence like static in the air, the weight of his stare crawling over my skin.
"Josie," he said, voice low and flat, "what the hell are you doing in my room?"
I blinked my eyes open, heart thudding like I'd run a marathon. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't teasing. He looked cold—so cold it made my stomach turn.
