Page 6 of 10 Days to Ruin

“Does this whole mysterious stranger act usually work for you?” I ask, aiming for sardonic but landing somewhere closer to breathless and giddy.

“I wouldn’t know.” His eyes meet mine, and there’s that dangerous glint again. “I’ve never tried it before.”

“Liar.”

“Absolutely.” He crowds me closer, still holding my hand. His hips kiss mine just as the small of my back kisses the sink behind me. “But you knew that already.”

I should back away. I really, really should. Everything about this man is a red flag. Charisma is a red flag. Cleverness is a red flag. Being that stupidly good-looking is like a whole flagpole’s worth of red flags.

But I’ve spent my whole life running from dangerous men, and something about that gets exhausting after a while.

Maybe that’s why I don’t move when he reaches up with his free hand and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Or maybe it’s just because the bathroom lights are hitting his eyes in a way that makes them look like Arctic ice at midnight.

“Your friend did a nice job with these braids,” he murmurs, fingers trailing down one plait. “Shame about the one coming loose.”

I blink. “How did you?—?”

“Your dress is safety-pinned in the back, which means it doesn’t fit, which suggests you borrowed it from someone. The braids are too complex to do yourself, and they’re actually even in the back, and I’m fairly certain you don’t have eyes in the back of your head. So I took an educated guess.”

“I… You… Are you showing off?”

“Maybe.” His hand settles at the nape of my neck. I can feel my own pulse hammering against his palm. “Is it working?”

My throat is dry. “That depends on what you’re trying to achieve.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, and I realize I’ve never been more aware of another person’s lips in my entire life. “I thought that was obvious,” he says.

I laugh deliriously. “There is not one single, solitary thing about you that is obvious.”

“No? Then let me be clear.”

His face is so close to mine. It’s all I can see, all I can possibly bring myself to care about. I’m bathing in his scent as his lips draw closer and closer.

And closer still, and closer still, until?—

The bathroom door creaks.

We spring apart like teenagers caught behind the bleachers. My mysterious stranger’s face transforms instantly, that almost-softness hardening into marble as he turns toward the door.

He doesn’t have to say a word. The newcomer takes one look at us—me with my bandaged hand and flushed cheeks, him with his thundercloud scowl and general aura ofDo not fuck with me—and backs right out again.

When the door clicks shut, we both exhale. But the tension doesn’t go away. Something lingers in the air between us, electric and unfinished and dangerous as all hell.

“You should go,” he warns, though it sounds like it costs him something to say it.

I gulp. “Should I?”

“Yes.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Because if you don’t leave now, I’m going to kiss you. And once I start, I’m not going to want to stop.”

He’s right. I should go. I take a half-step toward the door, then pause and turn back. “What if I don’t want you to stop?”

His face is half-shadowed. A dark pit where his left eye should be. “You should be very, very careful before you say things like that to a man like me.”

I look at him. His head almost brushes the ceiling and his shoulders seem to span from wall to wall. I was spot-on the first time: he’s a bad idea made real. Mama would’ve whispered a scary fairy tale about him. He’s a beast, a golem, a dark prince who curses everything he touches.

I look at the door. It’s there. I could grab the knob—avoiding cutting my hand on it this time, preferably—and twist. I could open it. I could leave.

But whether it’s masochism or recklessness or just plain old stupidity, something compels me to turn back instead. To open my mouth, and to tell this demon…

---