Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Eva
When I get to the room, I drop my bag by the edge of the king-sized bed, place the chocolate cake on the nightstand, then let out a slow breath.
My heart is racing, but I’m not sure if it’s from the flight, the excitement of being in Key West…
or the fact that Esteban and I will be sharing this room.
Who am I kidding? Let’s be honest—everything I’m feeling right now is because I’m about to share a bed with the man I’ve been crushing on since the moment I moved back home.
I make a beeline for the bathroom and admire how beautiful it is.
Earlier I was in a hurry and didn’t pay attention, but now I am impressed.
The floors are smooth marble, the vanity glows under recessed lighting, and the shower—my God, the shower—is a glass enclosure with multiple heads positioned at every angle.
I’ve never seen anything like it. I peel off my clothes, trying not to overthink, and step inside.
The warm water hits me from all directions, washing away the sunblock and sweat. I close my eyes and tilt my face toward the rainfall head above me, letting it soak into my scalp. I take my time, savoring every second.
Once I’m out, I wrap myself in the plush robe hanging on the hook and wipe the steam from the mirror. My reflection stares back at me as I go through the familiar motions of my skincare routine. Cleanser. Toner. Serum. Moisturizer. A touch of lip balm. It should calm me, center me. It usually does.
But right now, I can hear Esteban outside the bathroom. His footsteps, the sound of a zipper, the low thrum of his voice as he mutters something to himself. My pulse picks up.
Biting my lip, I glance toward the door. What happens now?
Earlier at the table, when he said he wanted to use me as a plate for his chocolate cake, it was a joke. But the heat in his eyes? The tension that coiled between us when no one was watching? That didn’t feel like a joke.
I brought the damn cake. I have every intention of letting him eat it later.
From a plate, I remind myself. But now I’m wondering what would happen if I walked out there and handed it to him with nothing but this robe on.
Would he take it a step further? Or was all that flirtation just Esteban being Esteban?
There’s only one way to find out.
I open the door and step into the room, my heart thudding wildly against my ribs.
Esteban is sitting in the corner chair, one leg stretched out, the other bent, his arms resting casually on the armrests.
But there’s nothing casual about the way his eyes are on me. It’s like he’s been waiting for me.
His gaze roams my body, slow and heated, starting at my damp hair and traveling down to the robe tied loosely around my waist. He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes say enough. Hunger. Interest. Restraint. I guess that if I were to bring the cake to him right now, he might eat it off me.
But I don’t.
Instead, I smile like my pulse isn’t going haywire. “The bathroom’s yours.”
He gives me a curt nod, his eyes lingering a second too long before he stands and walks past me. I keep my eyes on my suitcase, only letting out the breath I’d been holding once I hear the bathroom door close behind him.
Relief floods me, mixed with a pinch of disappointment.
I drop my dirty clothes in a small laundry bag and dig through my suitcase. My fingers brush over the lace sets I packed “just in case,” and without overthinking it, I slide the panties on. Black. Lacy. Barely there.
I’m reaching for the oversized sleep shirt when the bathroom door swings open.
And there he is.
My eyes widen, my body jerks. “Oh my God—Esteban!”
I instinctively slap both hands over my chest, the shirt dangling from my elbow.
He freezes mid-step, towel slung low on his hips, droplets of water still clinging to his chest and shoulders. His eyes go wide, and for a second, he just stares. “Carajo,” he mutters, snapping out of it.
But I don’t. My gaze drops to the tattoos inked across his chest and side, my brain short-circuiting as I try and fail not to stare.
“I’m so sorry, Eva. I came back to grab my razor.” He quickly squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head, one hand lifting in surrender like he’s about to be arrested, the other holds the towel.
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. “What? You’ve never seen a topless woman before?”
He swallows. Hard. “I have. Just… not you. It’s different with you.” There’s something in his voice, something raw and real that makes my breath hitch.
I fumble my shirt over my head and shimmy into my sleep shorts as fast as I can. “Well,” I say, still trying to sound nonchalant despite the furnace raging under my skin, “maybe next time say something before you get out of the bathroom.”
“I thought you were dressed,” he says, still not looking, still standing in place like a statue. “But believe me, Eva… I’m not complaining. The view was spectacular.”
That last part is whispered, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.
My cheeks flame. “Okay. You can look now.”
He cracks one eye open. Then the other. And when he sees me dressed, his lips twitch. “Noted. I’ll work on my timing.”
I shake my head, trying to suppress the smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah. Please do.” But even as he heads back toward the bathroom to finish showering, I can still feel the way he looked at me, like he wanted to memorize every inch.
And I know, deep in my bones, that something could happen between us tonight. I just need to stay calm. Collected. Not jump his bones the second he walks out of that bathroom.
Grabbing my Kindle, I plop down onto the bed, letting out a sigh as my body sinks into the plush mattress. My goodness, this bed feels like a cloud. I make a mental note: I need one of these at home.
I wiggle under the covers and start scrolling through my book, pretending like I can focus on the chapter I’ve already reread three times. The words blur together, the plot vanishes, and no matter how hard I try, my eyes keep flicking to the closed bathroom door.
The water’s still running.
And my mind—traitorous thing that it is—starts wandering.
What is he doing in there?
Is he just washing his hair, rinsing off a long day?
Or is he thinking of me?
My breath catches.
Is he touching himself while thinking of me?
My cheeks burn at the thought, but I don’t stop the mental image from playing out.
I close my eyes for a second and let the image build, his strong body under the spray, head tipped back, water gliding down the ridges of his chest. His hand wrapped around his hard cock, the way I looked earlier almost naked flashing in his mind.
Shit. I sit up and press the Kindle to my chest like it might absorb my thoughts and save me from myself.
This isn’t helping. I’m spiraling.
I glance at the bathroom door again just as the water shuts off.
My pulse jumps, fingers tighten on the Kindle.
This is fine. I’m fine. We’re just two friends sharing a room. Two friends that like to flirt with each other. And if we end up in bed having fun, I will not complain.