The Carrero Contract - Finding Freedom (Book 3 of Contract Trilogy)

16

I barely get a chance to wash my face when I catch wind of his footsteps on the metal stairway, softly padding down towards me and quickly pat it dry to make myself presentable. Brushing my fingers through my hair quickly, trying to fluff it out and tame the wild bed head. Acting like some desperate teen whose crush just came sauntering in and cursing myself for such juvenile behaviour. I have more skill than this, more experience in playing men, and I need to stop putting him on some higher pedestal. No man has ever got me in a tizzy the way he does and it's uncool. Lame as hell.

He is male; therefore, the fundamental basics are the same. He is no different to any other man I have ever seduced and coerced, only this one has an actual invested interest in me that should make him easier to sway.

Well, it would if he wasn't Alexi Carrero.

The fact remains, I need to stop overthinking and just be calm around him; do what I would normally do to entice a sexy beast with pale eyes and a soulless aura that draws you to the underworld with him.

Be me. I mean he fell for me, without my trying. I need to have more faith in that. Stop panicking that I won't match up to his expectations when really, he knows all the worst of me, and it hasn't sent him running for the hills at all.

I'm makeup free, rosy-cheeked and a little blushed from using cold water to wake myself up and not exactly the cat liner temptress I normally am. I look like a very young and innocent me, who is completely out of her depth.

"You in there?" Alexi taps the bathroom door gently, making my heart flip over with nerves and I open it rather than answer, smiling shyly, getting hit with just how good he looks ruffled and sleep creased in his clothes. He doesn't seem to have any hang-ups on me seeing him straight out of bed, anyway. Not that he should. It's inhuman how good he looks.

He's still too fuckable by any standard, even with slight dark circles and a lot of morning stubble. Just my luck I would bag the one man in the world who looks hotter with a hangover, not worse, all while I look like crap.

His stubble is about 3mm away from beard stage and I reach out and run my fingers across his chin impulsively as soon as he gets close, as though I'm an inquisitive child eager to feel this crazy phenomenon that grows fast on that tanned face. I guess it's because he's olive-skinned and foreign with black hair that erupts at the speed of light. He must shave twice a day to keep that baby-faced clean-shaven look he usually sports. I hate to admit, but I like this just as much. It highlights that sexy square jaw and masculine look he so effortlessly has. Makes him even more rugged and badass and has the same knee-weakening effect as when he is in a power suit sat at his desk.

"Good morning to you too." He laughs in a carefree, cute, gorgeous dimpled way at my childish groping and leans in to kiss me gently on the lips. Chaste and closed mouth, but it does stupidly weird things to my insides, and I know that the longer I'm around this version of him, the harder I'm falling. Kissing is now our thing, after last night, it seems. I'm not complaining; I sort of like the affection it shows from him. His need to just touch me in such an intimate way. Softening me and bringing back that dreamy quality to being around him.

He's potent, infectious, and I was stupid to believe I could resist him. I fell in love when he was at his worst, I have no chance of staying unaffected when he is trying to be his best for me. Not when he is like this.

"Morning. We slept late." I pull my hands back, away from being a little too eager on that face and brush my clothes down, aware of his closeness and able to inspect my plain face more readily. Self-conscious of my appearance and lack of ability to keep him at arm's length after such a cosy and full-on night with him. Dismissing the gushy feelings invoked by a sweet greeting kiss.