Page 45 of Beautiful Villain
My words were no more than a whisper.
I reached for his sleeve before I’d fully decided to, my fingers brushing the fabric.Water had soaked it through, darkening the cloth, dripping steadily onto the tiles below.Each drop sounded too loud in the small bathroom, ticking away the space between us.
“So I am,” he said.
His voice was calm, but his eyes weren’t.They tracked my hand where it lingered at his arm, then lifted back to my face.He shrugged, a careless roll of his shoulder that sent more water sliding down his sleeve.
I huffed a breath, half a laugh that didn’t quite land.“You’re impossible.”
“Mm,” he said, like he didn’t disagree.
I stepped closer—one step, then another—close enough that the heat of him cut through the damp chill of the room.Close enough that I could smell citrus and oud and something so distinctlyhim.My hand slid higher on his arm, thumb pressing into the muscle there, grounding myself.
I’d thought about this more times than I cared to admit.In quiet moments.In dangerous ones.But then I always pushed it aside and told myself it wasn’t the time, nor the place.
But standing there, with water still clinging to him and his attention fixed entirely on me, it felt inevitable.
“Gianni,” I said.
He went still at the sound of his name.So I stopped thinking.I rose onto my toes and kissed him.
Just that.Simple and uncomplicated.My mouth against his, soft but sure, like I was finally claiming a truth I’d been circling for days.For half a second, he didn’t react—and then his hand came up, not touching, just hovering at my waist, like he was fighting himself.
When he kissed me back, it wasn’t rushed or desperate.It was careful.Delicate.His hand stayed firm at my back, steady and grounding, and for a few seconds the rest of the world faded into something distant and unimportant.
When we pulled apart, he didn’t step away.
His forehead rested against mine, his breath warm, his presence heavy in a way that made it hard to think straight.My heart was beating too fast, my chest tight like I’d just crossed a line I couldn’t uncross.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly.
I let out a shaky breath and managed a weak, crooked smile.“I have a pretty long list of things I shouldn’t have done in my life.Where would you like me to start?”
Something unreadable crossed his face.His arm tightened around me just a little—not pulling me closer, but not quite letting me go, either.
The moment stretched, fragile and dangerous.But standing there, wrapped in his arms, none of that mattered as much as it should have.
Eventually, he leaned back just enough to look at me, his expression guarded again.Controlled.But his hand didn’t leave my back.
And that was how the moment ended—not with distance, not with promises, but with both of us knowing something had changed.
And knowing we were going to pretend it hadn’t.
17
Gianni
The kiss should never have happened.
That was the first thought that hit me as soon as her mouth left mine.Sharp.Immediate.Followed closely by about a dozen worse ones.
She was grieving.Hunted.Standing in my house while a Russian madman tested my walls and my patience with bullets and body parts.
And she had just kissed me like the world had narrowed down to one point and I was standing in it.
I should have stepped back.
I should have put distance between us, put my hands at my sides, reminded myself of the rules I lived by and the ones I enforced.She was vulnerable.Raw.Still shaking under the weight of what she’d lost.
