"If obsession were a person, it'd be you."
A street racer by evening, and a high-school student by day, 17 year-old Ola Sainz is forced to move to Los Angeles with her mother, where she crosses path with a typical California teenage boy.
Theo Lauder...
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His head is thrown back, raven bangs curling at his forehead, brushing the tips of his ears. His eyes are fluttered shut in what seems like his resting face, his mouth parted in a way that showcases his perfectly shaped rosebud lips.
A thick fog of hot smoke pours from behind him, billowing out of his spacious ensuite bathroom. His expressive brows curl, framing his manly features, while water droplets glisten in the divots of his collarbones, trailing down the expanse of his broad, bare chest.
I don't need to look up to sense his intense gaze fixed upon me through those damp, thick lashes.
"I can't believe you're making me do this right now while everyone's downstairs getting drunk on top-shelf liquor."
A mischievous pout tugs at his lips, making me reconsider my stance as I nonchalantly kick my sneakers and socks off, letting them fall somewhere in the room.
"Theo," I warn, a touch of impatience creeping into my tone as the door softly closes behind us. He pulls me along by my forearm. "We should go back out there. They might be wondering where we are."
"But you said you were going to help me—"
"I know what I said," I lament, thinking back to moments ago in his room when one sultry look nearly had me on my knees. "I take it back. I can't do this."
A disgruntled look crosses his face. "You can't just go back on your word."
He's utterly brazen for someone who can barely maintain eye contact.
"Watch me," I stand my ground, unfazed by his newfound audacity. Theo gazes at me like a child who's not getting their way.
I suppress a hurried exhale, grappling with the sheer boldness of his advances.
"No!" I whisper-hiss, my face ablaze as he persists in trying to arouse me, as if he hasn't already succeeded in creating a tantalizing warmth between my thighs. "You're capable of doing that yourself."
His thick, sinewy muscles and prominent veins wrap around my slender arms, and eventually, I stop resisting the inevitable. I let him lead me toward the clear, streamlined glass shower.
"Theo—"
"Please?" His eyes implore me like I'm a genie who will grant his heart's desires, causing me to rethink my original intention of simply saying goodbye.
I bite my lip and tilt my head back, torn between my rational side and the growing desire coursing through me. After all, how do you resist a 6'2 Greek god wrapped in nothing but a white towel that hung dangerously low on his hips?
"Don't," I murmur achingly. "Please, don't do this to me."
"There are still suds in my hair and I feel like dying."
