Chapter 6 — Again

-POV Derby

The first thing that brought me back to reality wasn’t the blinding sunlight cutting through the heavy velvet drapes. It was the sheer, suffocating quiet of the room.

I blinked my eyes open, my brain taking a messy five seconds to remember exactly where I was. Penthouse suite. The Four Seasons. A massive, ridiculously soft bed that smelled like expensive sheets and bad decisions. Then, my gaze drifted to the right, and my breath instantly caught in my throat.

Jordan Vasquez was lying right beside me.

He was fast asleep, one heavy, muscular arm thrown carelessly over the empty space between us. Without his tailored three-piece suit and that untouchable corporate glare, he looked completely different. Almost human. His dark hair was messy, falling over his forehead, and his sharp jawline looked slightly softer against the white pillow. He looked entirely too calm. Too undisturbed.

It was deeply infuriating.

I, on the other hand, was a walking anxiety attack. My heart was already running a marathon against my ribs, and my mind was frantically replaying the chaotic blur of the last eight hours. I’d come to his hotel room with an attitude, fully intending to put him in his place, to tell him that our first night was a fluke. Instead, the second he touched me, my dignity had folded like a cheap card table.

I closed my eyes for a second, a silent groan escaping my lips. *Get it together, Derby.* Slowly, carefully, I began to slide toward the edge of the mattress. My body felt heavy, slightly sore in places that made my face instantly flush with heat. I kept my eyes locked on his face, holding my breath every time the sheets rustled. If I could just sneak into the bathroom, grab my clothes from the floor, and ghost him before he woke up, I could still pretend I had some semblance of control over my life.

I’d just managed to slide one leg out from under the heavy duvet when the breathing beside me shifted.

It didn't get faster. It just stopped being the slow, deep rhythm of a sleeping man.

I froze, hovering half-naked at the edge of the bed like a criminal caught red-handed.

Jordan didn't rush to sit up. He slowly opened his eyes, the dark, piercing irises completely clear, devoid of any morning drowsiness. He’d been awake. Or at least, he’d woken up the exact second I tried to move away from him.

He didn't reach out to grab me. He just shifted his head on the pillow, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made the air in the room feel dangerously thin.

The silence between us stretched, thick and heavy. It wasn’t the usual, clumsy awkwardness you’d expect after a reckless hookup. It was worse. We were entirely too aware of each other. My eyes instinctively traced the dark, swirling tattoos snaking down his bicep, remembering how those same hard muscles had pinned my wrists above my head just hours ago. He noticed where I was looking, his jaw tightening slightly in response.

"You're doing it again," Jordan murmured. His voice was incredibly rough, a deep morning gravel that sent a sudden, electric shiver straight down my spine.

I swallowed hard, trying to force my professional facade into place, which was a joke considering I was currently clutching the bedsheet to my chest. "Doing what?"

"Running," he said simply. He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. The movement caused the white duvet to slip down to his hips, exposing his broad, scarred chest and the lean lines of his stomach. He looked like a predator that was perfectly comfortable in his own skin, entirely unbothered by his nakedness. "You have this habit of looking like you're about to jump out of a moving vehicle the second things get quiet."

"I have a job, Jordan," I countered, my voice a little tighter than I intended. I hated how easily he could read my body language. I hated that he was right. "And unlike you, I can't just stroll into the office at noon and expect everyone to bow."

"The office doesn't open for another three hours, Derby." He didn't even look at the clock on the nightstand. His eyes never left my face. "Try again."

I bit my inside cheek, the toxic mixture of my own pride and the lingering heat from last night flaring up in my chest. "Fine. Maybe I just don't want to hang around for the awkward morning-after small talk. We had fun. It was... great. But I think it's better if we just keep things strictly professional from now on."

Strictly professional. The words sounded completely pathetic, hanging in the air between us like a transparent lie.

Jordan observed me for a long, agonizing moment. He didn't look angry. He just looked deeply amused by my desperate attempt to rebuild the boundary lines we’d thoroughly destroyed hours ago.

Slowly, he reached out. His long fingers grazed the bare skin of my ankle, his touch light but carrying enough silent authority to make me freeze completely. His thumb lazily traced the bone, sending a wave of unwanted warmth shooting straight up my leg.

"Professional?" he repeated, his voice dropping an octave, his dark eyes darkening with a slow, dangerous hunger. "Is that what we were being last night when you had your vintage lace panties clenched in my teeth while I had you pressed against that glass window, Derby?"

My breath hitched violently. My face burned so hot I thought I might actually combust. "Jordan—"

"Don't lie to yourself," he murmured, his grip on my ankle firming just enough to keep me from pulling away. "And definitely don't lie to me. You're not leaving because you're worried about your clock-in time. You're leaving because you're terrified of how much you liked it."

"I am not terrified of you," I lied, my chin tilting up defiantly, even though my heart was hammering so loudly I was certain he could hear it.

"I didn't say you were scared of me," Jordan said, a small, knowing smirk touching his lips as he slowly let go of my ankle, rolling onto his back and folding his arms behind his head. He looked completely relaxed, like he’d already won a game I didn't even know we were playing.

I didn't waste another second. I slid completely out of bed, wrapping the hotel robe around myself, desperately needing some form of armor. I grabbed my discarded dress and heels from the floor, my fingers trembling slightly as I shoved them into my bag.

I walked toward the heavy oak door of the suite, my hand wrapping around the cold brass handle. I was one second away from freedom. One second away from escaping the suffocating gravity of his presence.

"Derby," his voice cut through the quiet room, stopping me dead in my tracks.

I didn't turn around. I couldn't. I just kept my hand on the doorknob, my spine rigid.

"Leaving already?" Jordan asked softly from the bed.

The question didn't sound like a plea. It sounded like a challenge—a quiet, arrogant reminder that no matter how fast I ran today, we both knew I’d eventually end up right back in his space.

End of Chapter 6