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<b>51 </b>
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Alejandro groaned against her mouth, breaking the kiss with visible reluctance. His forehead pressed to hers, his breath hot and uneven.
“Whoever that is,” he muttered darkly as he let her go, “I hate them already.”
Her gaze darted to the nightstand where the phone vibrated insistently. The name on the screen made her stomach drop when she picked it up.
“Shit. It’s Celeste.”
“The hell does she want this early?” Alejandro growled, but Nivera was already scrambling out of bed, guilt, and panic fueling her steps.
“The runway!” she gasped, nearly tripping as she dashed toward the door.
Alejandro flopped back against the mattress with a frustrated groan, dragging a hand down his face. The warmth of her lips lingered against his own, making the interruption unbearable.
“This morning was perfect until that damn phone,” he muttered, forcing himself upright with a wince.
Every muscle in his body protested, bruises igniting with sharp reminders ofst night’s beating.
He made his way into the bathroom, flipping on the light. The mirror reflected the damage: dark bruises blooming across his ribs, cuts scattered along his torso, and swelling along his jaw.
At least they had been wise enough to avoid his face too much. The Garcia heir couldn’t be seen in public looking like roadkill.
Not the worst he had ever seen.
He studied himself for a long moment, then–despite the pain–a slow smile curved his mouth.
Because all he could think about wasn’t the bruises. It wasn’t the ache in his ribs or the blood crusting his knuckles.
But the memory of Nivera’s lips.
Her kiss<b>. </b>
The way she had leaned in first, unprovoked, shattering her own rules just to taste him.
The way she had leaned into his touch, the desperation of her kiss, the way she’d melted despite herself.
He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.
It wasn’t the cocky smirk he wore in public, nor the calcted grin of a man who always had control. This was softer. Younger. Almost boyish.
16:00 Sun, Sep 7 9 …
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He looked like a teenager who had just tasted his first real kiss–the kind that branded itself into his skin, that made the world tilt on its axis.
Because it was. He had never felt this way before, not once.
And damn, it felt good.
It was ridiculous. He was supposed to be cold, calcted, untouchable. But here he was, grinning like some teenager who’d just been kissed by his first crush.
His chest tightened in a way he couldn’t exin.
He’d had countless women–beautiful, willing, desperate to have a piece of him. But never like this.
Never someone who made his heart pound with something other than lust. Never someone who made him feel—light.
And damn it all, he wanted more.
Even with his bruises screaming at him, Alejandro threw his fist in the air with happiness. Leaning closer to the mirror, he traced a finger over the cut at his lip, smirking at his reflection.
Let the world throw what it wanted at him. Bruises, enemies, nightmares.
Nivera had kissed him.
And he wasn’t about to let her forget it.
<b>**** </b>
Nivera’s bare feet pped against the marble floors as she flew down the corridor, heart pounding with a rhythm that had nothing to do with Celeste’s phone call and everything to do with what had just happened in that room.
Her lips still tingled with the taste of him–salt, warmth, danger. She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth as though she could wipe it away, erase the truth of what she’d done.
But it clung to her, heavy, insistent, a reminder of how easily she’d slipped.
Her heart stuttered, betraying her, reying the way he had pulled her in, the way she had melted before she even realized it.
For those reckless seconds, she hadn’t been Nivera Elton–the woman determined to keep her distance, to guard her heart. She had been… his..
God, what had she been thinking?
Shame rippled through her, sharp and merciless. You were supposed to resist him. You were supposed to hate
him.
She’d leaned in first, not him–her.
16:00 <b>Sun</b>, Sep 7
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And worse–she had wanted it. For those few fleeting seconds, she hadn’t thought about all the reasons she should hate him, the walls she’d built to protect herself. All she had felt was the pull. The terrible, undeniable gravity of Alejandro García.
Her pulse raced faster as she burst into her room, mming the door shut behind her. She leaned against it, palms t against the wood, trying to steady herself.
This was bad. So, so bad.
Alejandro was danger wrapped in charm. A wolf who wore a man’s face and smiled like sin. She knew it, she had lived it, and yet–when the nightmare had wed her apart, he had been the one to put her back together.
When her heart had felt like it would split in two, his hand had steadied it with nothing more than a touch to her cheek.
And she had kissed him.
Her knees trembled. She forced herself forward, rummaging through her closet with frantic hands. She needed to get ready for the runway, to focus on her career, on the chance Celeste had handed her–the lifeline she’d been praying for.
If she distracted herself, maybe the memory of his lips wouldn’t feel like it was branded into her skin.
But no matter how hard she tried to shove it aside, guilt twisted inside her chest. Alejandro had been hurt, beaten until bruises painted his ribs and blood marked his skin, and instead of just being grateful he was alive, she had kissed him like some desperate girl who didn’t know better.
Worse still–she feared she would do it again.