Page 48 of Luxe

"You left this at my place. I thought you might need it."

The corners of his mouth twitch as the lobby around us goes quiet.

I lean in and whisper. "Can we... go somewhere quiet to talk?"

He bites back and smiles. "Er, actually, no. I can't. Someone stole my keycard. Someone had to let me into my own apartment before. I’m just down here to get another printed out.”

Embarrassed, I stretch out my arm, holding his card out to him.

He looks at it, and then back up at me before he shakes his head, and turns to the desk. "Miss Lu, do you have a new card for me?"

The woman at the reception desk hands it to him, wordlessly, and he flashes his smile at her in thanks.

"You keep that one," he says. And then without another word, grabs my wrist and leads me over to an elevator.

Once it arrives, he gently presses his hand against my back and guides me inside. It feels like I'm watching everything from out of my body. Everything feels surreal and yet hyperreal all at once. His hand feels featherlight against me, but then like it’s searing into my skin at the same time.

He presses the highest floor’s button and scans his card against the panel. We don't say a word until the elevator comes to a smooth stop thirty-three floors later.

The door opens into a small foyer area that leads into a spacious living room

"Kiki. Come in,” he says once he realizes that I’m not following him into his apartment.

I follow him at half speed down into a sunken living area that is surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows that open up into a panoramic view of the city below from The Peak. If I looked hard enough, I could probably see my own apartment from here.

He could see me. If he wanted to.

"Kylian," I say, because that's the only word in my brain. Kylian.

"Yes, Kiki?" His insistence on using my nickname isn't helping the neurons in my brain fire. He pours himself a drink and lifts the bottle to me, offering me some.

“No, thank you.” I couldn't swallow right now if I wanted to,

He finishes his drink and walks back to me. For the first time since I arrived at his apartment building, I notice what he's wearing.

Dressed only in a pair of gray sweatpants and a white wifebeater every single line of his body is accentuated, from the toned muscle of his thighs, to the angled curve of his obliques. His blond hair is wet and slicked back so that for once his eyes aren't partially covered by his fringe and I can see every microexpression in his face. There is the slightest hint of a five o'clock shadow over his jaw and I wonder what it would feel like rubbing against my face.

"What are you doing here, Kiara?" he asks again, his voice light, but the twitch in his jaw and the way he shoves his hands into his track pants pockets betray his fake nonchalance. He takes a step forward and I take one back. "Did you want to tell me something?" he prompts.

I open my mouth hoping that it will kickstart my tongue to start moving, but it's dry, stuck to the roof of my mouth.

He takes another step forward, and again, I step back and up against a wall behind me.

And another step. There’s nowhere for me to go now.

He's so close now I can smell the faint fragrance of his soap. It's soft, clean, probably something as simple as Dove.

"I-Is th-that D-Dove?" I stutter, completely surprising the both of us.

A frown "Dove?"

"Your soap?"

He laughs.

Throws his head back, grabs his chest, and laughs. It fills the room and everything in it, including me

"Why are you laughing?" I growl, confused about the response. I've never been one to take a joke about myself well. “She takes herself too seriously,” is what everyone always said about me,

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