Chapter 185: Screwed

And I?

I was a liaison. I was replaceable. I was an employee. Falling for him wasn’t just a bad idea; it was professional and emotional suicide.

But the heart doesn’t care about quarterly reports or power dynamics. It just wants what it wants, and right now, mine was screaming for the man on the other side of the door.

THUD-THUD-THUD.

Three sharp, authoritative raps on the bathroom door made me jump, my feet nearly slipping on the wet floor.

“Hurry up,” Cassian’s voice boomed, muffled by the heavy wood. It was commanding, his usual tone, but there was a subtle thread of something lighter underneath, impatience mixed with a hint of amusement.

“Don’t rush me!” I yelled back, my voice cracking slightly. I sounded defensive because I was. I felt like he could see through the door, see the internal crisis I was having while naked under his expensive showerhead.

“You’ve been in there for twenty minutes,” he called out. A beat of silence. “Are you trying to turn into a fish, Bennett?”

“I’m being thorough!” I snapped, grabbing the loofah and scrubbing at my arm with unnecessary violence. I was making a point to a man who couldn’t even see me, my face burning with a mix of steam and irritation.

“I didn’t ask you to be thorough,” came the dry response. “In fact, I don’t understand why you’re even showering. We’re just going to get messy again.”

“I don’t care what you want!” I felt petulant, the stress of the evening boiling over. “I felt sticky and sweaty from the bar and the… the alley. So I’m showering. Deal with it!”

Silence followed. I stood there, panting slightly, thinking I’d finally won the round. I began to relax, reaching for the shampoo, when I heard a sound that made my blood run cold.

The rattle of the doorknob.

He was testing the lock. Turning it.

“BE PATIENT!” I shrieked, the sound coming out in a high-pitched scramble. I lunged for the glass door of the shower, nearly tripping over the ledge. “Cassian, stay out!”

“I want to join you,” he said. I could hear the mischief in his voice now, that low, rumbling tone he used when he knew he was successfully getting under my skin.

“You’re NOT allowed!” I scrambled out of the shower, nearly slipping again, and grabbed the nearest towel. I wrapped it around my waist with frantic, clumsy fingers, my heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.

“It’s my bathroom,” he said, his voice the epitome of reasonable. It was a completely unreasonable statement.

“FINE!” I yelled, fueled by a sudden burst of indignant energy. If he wanted the bathroom so badly, he could have it.

I marched to the door and gripped the handle, pulling it open with aggressive force. “You can HAVE your bathroom!”

The door swung open, and a massive cloud of white steam billowed out into the hallway like a theatrical effect.

I stood there, dripping wet, my hair plastered to my forehead, the towel barely clinging to my hips. I was flushed from the heat, my skin a rosy pink, and I was glaring at him with every ounce of frustration I had left.

Cassian was standing right there. He hadn’t moved back an inch. He was leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down. He looked at me, from my wet hair down to my bare feet, and then back up again.

He didn’t look impressed. In fact, he looked genuinely offended. One eyebrow was arched toward his hairline, his lips set in a thin, disgruntled line.

“There. Happy?” I snapped, trying to shoulder my way past him into the bedroom. “I’m out. It’s all yours. Go turn into a fish yourself.”

I didn’t get more than two steps.

Cassian’s movement was a blur. Before I could process it, his arm was around my waist, a solid band of heat that pulled me back against him.

“What?!”

I didn’t have time to finish the thought. In one smooth, effortless motion, he hoisted me up. My feet left the ground, the world tilting as he slung me over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

“Cassian! Put me down!” I shouted, my hands thumping against his back. It was like hitting a brick wall. He didn’t even flinch.

He was incredibly efficient. It took exactly three steps to reach the massive bed. He didn’t drop me gently; he let me fall.

I hit the mattress with a soft oomph, bouncing slightly, my limbs sprawling across the expensive silk sheets. My towel had loosened dangerously, and my hair was soaking the pillows, but before I could even scramble into a sitting position, the light was blocked out.

Cassian followed me down immediately.

He crawled over me, his movements predatory and graceful, caging me between his arms. His hands landed on either side of my head, his weight settling over me, pinning me into the mattress. He looked down at me, his eyes dark with a focused, intense hunger that made my previous “falling for him” panic feel very, very real.

I opened my mouth to complain, to tell him he was being a jerk, to demand my towel back, but I never got the chance.

He leaned down and captured my mouth.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was immediate, deep, and utterly claiming. It was the kind of kiss that didn’t just silence you; it erased everything else. My hands, which had been ready to push him away, stayed frozen for a split second before they betrayed me.

I tried to stay mad. I tried to remember the “nothing” in the car and the interruption of the phone call. I tried to be the “composed adult” I pretended to be.

I failed.

I melted into the mattress, my fingers find their way into his hair, pulling him closer as I kissed him back with a desperation that matched his own. It was pathetic. I was pathetic. And as his tongue tangled with mine, I knew I was absolutely, irrevocably screwed.

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