Page 17 of Fixer for the Billionaire

Carmina steps back, swallowing hard. "Uh, yeah. Seen a pink shower cap? Gabi loves swiping my stuff. Ended up using a grocery bag."

"A grocery bag?"

"To keep my hair dry. I wash it every other—You know what? Never mind."

"No sweat. Haven't seen it."

She nods, our proximity suddenly obvious. The scent of her soap, the hint of coconut shampoo. I notice her breathing, subtle but quick.

"Um, okay," she says, avoiding my gaze. "So, I’ll just..."

"Head out?"

"Yeah."

But she hesitates. Neither of us wants her to go. The very things that should push us apart seem to pull us closer, an undeniable magnetic force.

I lean in. She stands her ground, lips parting slightly.

My gaze drops to her mouth, leaning down slowly, asking for permission she grants by placing a hand on my chest, looking up into my eyes. Then, I kiss her, sealing the silent agreement between us, all those thoughts of shower caps and grocery bags fading quickly away.

Chapter Seven

CARMINA

My brain's caught in a tug-of-war about this kiss. Can't decide if I should melt into Quentin's familiar warmth or shove him away, remembering we're supposed to be at odds.

But my body? Oh, it's got a one-track mind.

It's craving his hands pulling me in, his tongue taking a tour of my mouth, and that electric heat zapping between us until we're both lost in it.

So, I cave, letting his touch sweep me off my feet as our kiss deepens, desperate and fiery.

Every caress is a flashback to the Hare & Holeton retreat—our first kiss battleground. I can still taste the s'mores and wine on his lips, feel the solidness of him. I had to crane my neck, stand on my tiptoes, just to meet him halfway into a universe where he was the center of everything.

That pull? It's as strong now as it was then. Sure, everyone gets sucked into Quentin's orbit, but I swore I wouldn't drown in it.

Yet here we are, making out like teenagers in my hallway, the rain creating a soundtrack on my roof, and I'm finding it impossible to push him away.

His hand travels up my back, getting tangled in my hair, yanking us even closer, if that's possible. My hands? They're on an adventure over his shoulders and chest, finally resting behind his neck as his fingers dance along the edge of my robe.

That tentative brush against the terrycloth sends a shiver through me, a silent shout for more.

Until his thumb grazes my areola.

The touch is feather-light but enough to make me gasp and break away.

He looks at me, eyes wide. "Fuck." He drops his hand. "Too much?"

I let out a long breath, my eyes closing for a brief moment. "No. Um, actually, it's not." My gaze lifts to Quentin's intense green eyes. "Which means you should probably leave."

He stares at me then nods. "Yeah, that's probably best." His eyes drop to his white robe. "Might be better if I get dressed before taking off."

A laugh escapes me, a bit uneven. "Right. Um, I might have something you can wear. Alex left some clothes here... a while back."

Quentin's eyes narrow, the air in the room seemingly getting colder.

"Alex, as in your ex?"

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