Christina’s POV
"Sure." I headed toward the small storage closet next to the stairwell. Because clearly I’ve been promoted from ’girl who can’t reach high things’ to ’tool runner’.
I swept the walls with my phone’s flashlight, like sothing out of a ghost hunting show.
The storage closet was a monunt to hoarding—boxes stacked precariously, tools scattered across shelves. I spotted the pliers on the top shelf, because of course they were.
I stretched, rising on my tiptoes and reaching for them, as if auditioning for "Swan Lake."
Just as I grabbed them, my foot rolled over so suspicious round object.I yelped, lost my balance, and flailed my arms like a human car dealership balloon in a storm.
The floor was covered with nails, sharp and nurous.The kind that would absolutely ruin my chances of ever wearing open-toe heels again.
But the pain never ca.
Instead, a pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling upright as if I weighed less than a bag of chips.
"Careful," he murmured low.
My heart was still trying to beat its way out of my chest.
I couldn’t see him,he was right behind . But in the darkness, every one of my senses was turned up to maximum.
His breath brushed softly against my neck, warm and gentle. The heat of his palms seeped through my shirt, his fingers gripping my waist as if they were naturally designed for catching wayward won in stairwell accidents.
Being in his arms reminded of how he had kissed and made love to that night.
The atmosphere was charged, and I was losing my mind a little. I tilted my head up to look at him, rising slightly on my tiptoes, wanting to get closer to his lips.
Suddenly, the lights flickered on,illuminating our position. I imdiately straightened and pulled away, putting distance between us.
I ran my fingers through my hair and said, "You fixed it."
"Yes, fixed it," he said, his expression unreadable. "You should check if everything’s working in your apartnt."
"Right. Thanks." I brushed past him, careful not to make contact. "For catching . And fixing the power."
"Anyti, neighbor."
"Okay. Yeah. Fine." I tossed the pliers onto the nearest shelf and bolted.
I sprinted back to my apartnt like my ass was on fire, and it wasn’t until the door clicked shut behind that I realized I hadn’t thanked him.
Or asked if he’d seen my note.
Basic social etiquette. The kind of thing I usually didn’t screw up.
That wasn’t . I wasn’t the type to go weak-kneed and tongue-tied just because a man happened to be attractive.
And yet, apparently, being within five feet of this man short-circuited my entire personality. One minute I was Christina Vance, a fully functional adult with a normal vocabulary, and the next I was a glitching disaster who overheated at re eye contact.
I an, seriously, how was I supposed to stay calm—
He’d been standing there in nothing but a damp towel and a clingy T-shirt so thin it deserved a warning label.
That man didn’t just affect ,he rewired my hormones.
Frankly, I deserved a dal for escaping before he noticed his body heat had turned my spine to Jell-O, or before I nearly collapsed altogether.
Collapsed.
Like so Regency heroine without her slling salts.
I shook my head hard, trying to shake the image from my head.
Him in a towel. Water running down the line of his throat.
"Get a grip, Chrissy." I thunked my head lightly against the door. You are not so bashful virgin or hormone-crazed teenager. You’ve seen abs before. Hell, you used to have abs.
My phone buzzed. I checked it, bracing for the worst.
Not Niall. Thank God.
Unknown number[Saw your note. Noticed you’re moving. Need help finding a new place? I’ve got a few ideas if you want. By the way, I’m Hudson.]
Oh. So that’s his na.
Polite Society whispered I should call him. Thank him for the blackout rescue.
Or, I didn’t know, maybe discuss the upcoming party where we were supposed to debut our fake engagent.
Texting ant he was still awake.
Probably still shirtless.
I stared at my phone, wavering.
Showing up at his door right now felt like tempting fate.
Or, more accurately, tempting myself into doing sothing wildly inappropriate—like climbing him like a tree and making all the wrong choices.
I did not trust my judgnt. Late night was pri ti for reckless decisions and inconvenient feelings.
Or hormone-driven feelings disguised as sothing deeper.
So I typed out a safe, responsible ssage,[Thanks for the offer, but I already have a few places I’m looking at. Good night.]
I tossed my phone onto the couch like it might bite .
Akira whined again in my mind.
"We are not going over there," I told her firmly. "Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever."
Sleep, when it finally ca, was anything but restful. My dreams were filled with Hudson—his hands, his mouth, his body moving against mine.I woke up gasping, tangled in my sheets, my body flushed and aching.
"This is ridiculous," I groaned, shoving a pillow over my face. "I’m a grown woman having wet dreams like a teenager."
Akira seed far too pleased with this developnt.
"You’re no help," I grumbled.
To distract myself, I spent the day searching for apartnts online and sketching designs for Nyx Collective’s next collection. I ordered delivery for both lunch and dinner, determined not to risk running into Hudson in the hallway.
"Pathetic," I muttered to myself as I demolished a container of pad thai. "Hiding in your apartnt because your libido has suddenly decided to wake up after years of hibernation."
My phone remained suspiciously silent all day. No calls from Niall. No texts. No voicemails demanding I return to my senses.
"He’s either figured out how to handle the pack dinner himself," I said to Akira, "or he’s taken Beatrice to et his parents instead."
The thought of Beatrice facing Louisa Granger made snort. Louisa had always seen right through my sister’s sweet, innocent act. "That girl has her eyes set on nothing but the Luna position," she’d told once. "She doesn’t love my son. She loves what he represents."
My phone rang, startling so badly I knocked over my water glass. Louisa’s na flashed on the screen.
Speak of the devil.
I hesitated, my finger hovering over the decline button.
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