Page 20 of Take Me Under

When he sat down on the edge of the bed, I could feel the heat radiating from his body. Strangely, all I could think about was curling into him, needing a comforting embrace amidst the turmoil left behind by the dream. It was an effort to stop myself from doing exactly that, acutely aware of the vulnerable position I was in.

Anton lifted a hand toward my face. Instinctively, I pulled back. Despite my headache, I had the wherewithal to remember that my skin was sticky from fever sweats, and I hadn’t showered in a few days. I was, for lack of a better word,completely gross, and didn’t want to be touched by another human while in this state. Anton, by contrast, was handsome and perfect, smelling like soap and pine and sin.

“Why did you shy away?” he asked.

“I’m just…” I paused, embarrassed as I struggled to find words.

His hand reached out again, tentative but determined, as he brushed aside a limp lock of hair that had fallen across my forehead. The contact sent a jolt of awareness coursing through me, igniting a blazing fire in the depths of my soul.

And then, to my surprise, he began to remove the pins from my hair.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Anton

Isat on the edge of the bed, carefully removing the bobby pins that held together Serena’s complex hairstyle. It was hard to see in the dim light, so I had to feel my way around.

She wasn’t burning up, and I was pleased that her fever had broken. She wore nothing but my oversized T-shirt, the soft fabric draping over her curves in a way that made my dick twitch. Despite her illness, she projected the same sex appeal and quiet strength that I’d found intriguing the moment I met her outside the Met Gala.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Just after one in the morning.”

“I feel wide awake. My body must still be on Italy time. But that doesn’t explain why you’re awake at this hour.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” I told her with a noncommittal shrug. I could have explained further, revealing that being the owner of Club O usually kept me up well past midnight.However, I wasn't sure how she would respond to learning that I owned a sex club, nor did I know her well enough to divulge one of my biggest secrets.

As one pin after another came loose in my fingers, Serena’s locks fell around her shoulders like a dark chocolate curtain. Her hair, once meticulously styled for the gala, now tumbled in silky waves against her skin. Her eyes fluttered closed and a soft sigh escaped her lips. It was as if the tension were melting away with the removal of each pin.

I watched her reaction with curiosity, wondering about her ability to place such blind trust in me. There was something intimate and raw about the moment, stirring unfamiliar thoughts and desires deep within me.

“How do you know how to do that?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Hair. Most men don’t even know what a bobby pin is.”

“I’ve seen my mother remove pins from her hair enough times. It isn’t all that difficult.”

“Does she wear her hair up regularly?”

“Before she died, yes.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Serena murmured.

Not wanting to invite a conversation about my mother’s death, I didn’t reply. I continued to work on Serena’s hair instead. There had to be at least a hundred pins wedged in every which way. It was no wonder she had a headache.

When I tugged the final one free, the last tendril fell to complete the messy masterpiece.

“All done,” I told her, letting my fingers linger on the dark strands, savoring the satiny feel of them. I envisioned it braided, trailing down the middle of her back, ready to be wrapped around my hand the moment I wanted her.

Serena tilted her head slightly, meeting my gaze with interest. There was a question there, unspoken yet palpable.

“That feels so much better,” she finally said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Silence fell and she glanced down awkwardly.

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