90. THE WANTING HEAT

HOLLY'S POV. “Holly?” he called. I snapped my gaze up, meeting his. “Oh, yes.” The smell hit me again, sharp and unpleasant, and I scrunched my face, pointing quickly at the washing machine. “Take your time,” I said, already turning away. I left him standing there alone, and my heart was pounding far louder than it had any right to. Five minutes later, I heard footsteps approaching. I didn’t look up at first. I told myself not to. The kitchen light cast a dull glow across the floor. I was doing just fine until his shadow stretched into the room. Then I felt him. When I finally lifted my eyes, my breath stalled in my chest. Zeke stood there without a shirt, black trousers sitting low on his hips, secured by a simple belt. His hair was a mess, and his damp fingers must have raked through it, leaving dark strands to fall into his eyes, softer and more dangerous than before. He looked… undone. Less guarded. Less like the man who’d walked into my house earlier and more like the o