Wet Hair & Warnings (21+)

I walked through the villa hallway with wet feet, seawater dripping down my legs, sand clinging to the soles, leaving messy prints on the expensive white marble.

The thin black T-shirt clung to my skin, revealing the outline of my wet bra and the way my stomach flinched with every breath I took.

I moved fast toward the bedroom, kicking the door open with the edge of my foot.

And there he was. Zach Romano.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, dark blue eyes pinned on me like poisoned daggers.

His jaw was tight. His eyes dragged over me, slow and deliberate. Starting at my wet hair dripping down my chest, to the soaked T-shirt clinging to my nipples, down to my hips barely covered by thin cotton shorts.

“Have fun?” he asked, voice low and lazy, sharp enough to slap.

I scoffed, expression flat as I made my way to the bathroom. “Shitty afternoon. But hey, at least the ocean didn’t put a bullet in my head.”

My hand grabbed a towel from the rack. I rubbed my hair dry