Five
FIVE
Molly
Morning sunlight spilled across the hardwood floor when I stepped out of my room.
After last night, I wasn’t sure what I expected.
But one thing I definitely didn’t expect was the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of a screwdriver against metal.
And Enzo crouched in front of the door—shirtless.
I stopped breathing.
His muscles flexed under golden skin as he adjusted the screws, pure sin in motion.
He’d carelessly tossed his shirt and jacket over the recliner, and his pants clung to his waist, teasing what was underneath and making me want to throw my dignity right out of the door and fall at his feet.
I was so busy ogling him that I didn’t notice he’d turned to look at me.
Busted.
He smirked when he caught my eye.
“Good morning.”
“That’s debatable.”
His smile wavered and he looked concerned.
“You get any sleep at all?”
I shrugged and found myself being honest. “Barely.”
“You should have joined me. The chair’s not as bad as it looks.”
The softness in his eyes made me feel exposed.
I looked away and stared at the door.
“What are you doing to my door?”
“I didn’t like the look of those hinges, so I’m fixing them,” he said.
“Figured I’d finish the job. I don’t like half-done things.”
He turned back to his work.
My eyes followed the slope of his shoulders, the line of his back.
I hated how much I wanted to touch him, study every inch of him, commit him to memories that I would carry forever.
“You want coffee? Even though I wouldn’t call that instant crap coffee,” he said.
I blinked. “What?”
He nodded to the kitchen.
“Coffee. I made enough for two.”
I smiled.
“You drink coffee like a normal person, huh?”
“Define normal,” he said.
I snorted and went to the kitchen to pour a cup.
When I came back, he was standing, shirtless, wiping sweat off his chest with a paper towel.
My body went hot and cold all at once.
“You keep doing that on purpose,” I muttered.
He raised a brow. “Doing what?”
“That,” I said, my eyes on his chest.
He stepped closer.
I didn’t move.
“Is it working?”
“Don’t play with me, Enzo,” I said.
“Why not?” he said. His voice was low, teasing—but underneath, I heard the truth of it.
He was just as on edge as I was.
“You know exactly what you’re doing, Enzo,” I said.
He grazed my cheek with soft fingers.
“Do I?” he asked, trying to sound detached.
I hated him.
I wanted him.
I set my coffee down, hard.
“Enzo.”
He didn’t flinch.
Just stood there, waiting.
“Why are you really here?”
The playfulness in his eyes was gone in an instant.
What was left was sternness, the faintest hint of concern.
“Because someone tried to break into your home, and because I don’t trust anyone else to keep you safe.”
I swallowed.
“That’s it?”
He shook his head slowly.
“No. That’s not it.”
He stepped closer again, until I smelled the cologne on his skin.
“You want the whole truth, doll? I’m here because when I’m not, I think about you too much. Because I’d rather be in your tiny apartment fixing your door than anywhere else in the world.”
He leaned in but stopped just short of my mouth.
“And because every time I look at you, I want to kiss you.”
My lips parted.
He didn’t move.
The tension stretched, wire-tight.
I reached up and touched his cheek.
Just once.
That was enough.
And then I walked away.
Because I needed a minute.
Because I didn’t know if I wanted him to follow.
And because part of me already knew he would.