Page 45 of Fixer for the Billionaire

My voice, softer than the steam whirling around us, is barely above a whisper as I drop the cap. “Fuck,” I swear, coming closer to the glass wall. I hesitate. “Sanchez?”

Nothing. No response.

Again. “Sanchez?”

I wait. Still nothing. "Carmina, darling.” I release a steady breath. “Can I come in?" For what feels like an eternity, there's only the sound of water cascading to the floor, wrapping the moment in a delicate tension. Then, she turns, her form a blur behind the frosted glass, and gives a slight nod. It's all the permission I need.

The beautiful glass door opens with a gentle pull, and I step into the warm cascade, still wrapped in my towel—which now seems utterly ridiculous.

But none of that matters when I wrap my arms around her, the water immediately soaking through the fabric, binding it to my skin.

Carmina clutches onto me, her skin bare against mine, and in this moment, the rest of the world—the tension, the quarrels, even the fabric of my towel—seems to dissolve into the steam around us.

She lifts her tear-stained face to mine, eyes glistening with a vulnerable rawness that tightens my chest. And then, she kisses me.

The world narrows down to this single, electric point of contact. It's a kiss that speaks volumes, conveying apologies, comfort, and shared pain without a single word.

And I kiss her back, holding her tight as if she might slip away from me.

We finally pull apart, both breathing heavily. The shower continues to stream around us, masking the sound of our shaky breaths. "I'm sorry," we say simultaneously.

Carmina sniffs softly, laughing, and I join her. In this quiet moment, with her in my arms and water cascading around us, nothing else matters.

Not the past. Not the future.

Just this beautiful, mentally-exhausted, emotionally wrung-out woman in my arms.

Still enveloped in the warmth of the shower, and with the water creating a world that's ours alone, I gently take the lead. There's an unspoken understanding between us as I reach for the shampoo.

Carefully, I massage the scented gel into her beautiful dark hair. It's a moment steeped in quiet intimacy, with the warm water a soft symphony in the background.

The way the droplets cling to her lashes. The soft sighs that escape her lips. It all seems to weave a spell around us as I watch the suds glide down her back.

Reaching for the conditioner, I work it through her hair with the same care and precision. And as I rinse it out, she leans back against me, her head resting on my chest.

Desire surges through me, but I push it down.

This isn't about that.

I remove my hands, not wanting to disrupt the moment, and pause for a beat before slipping my fingers onto her shoulders. "Ready to get out?" I murmur, and she nods, her eyes turning to meet mine with a quiet gratitude.

With utmost care, I turn off the water and reach for the towels. Wrapping the fluffiest one I can find around her, I then wrap myself.

Lifting her is easy; she's light in my arms, and there's something profoundly fitting about carrying her to her bedroom—the soft, elegant space that so perfectly reflects her.

Laying her down on the lush bed, I see a flicker of something like fear in Carmina's eyes as I move to leave. Her hand catches mine, a silent plea in her eyes as her mouth moves softly—a whisper in the dark.

"Stay."

It's as if every part of me has been waiting for her to ask.

Sliding under the covers beside her, I pull her close, her back to my chest, and as I wrap my arms around her, I can feel the day's tension melt away in the warmth of our shared silence.

Drifting into sleep, I realize this is all I've ever wanted—this quiet closeness, with her safe in my arms.

* * *

CARMINA

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