Twisted Love (Twisted 1)

I made it halfway up the stairs before I caved. The glass pane above the door provided a clear view of the sidewalk, and although I was already in the building, Alex remained outside, soaked to the bone. His shirt clung to his sculpted torso, and his hair plastered to his forehead, the light brown color almost black from the rain. He lifted his eyes until they met mine through the glass, his face stamped with equal parts anguish and determination.

And even though concrete, metal, and a good dozen feet separated us, he exerted a magnetic pull that almost convinced me to fling open the door and pull him in from the cold.

Almost.

I forced myself to turn away and run up the rest of the stairs to my flat before my stupid, soft heart got me in trouble again. Even after I changed and stepped into the shower, shivering, its seductive whispers caressed my ears and urged me to give in.

Ask him to come in. It’s dark and cold outside…What if he gets sick? Robbed? Hurt?

“He won’t,” I said out loud, scrubbing my skin so hard it turned red. “Alex Volkov doesn’t get hurt. He does the hurting.”

The image of him standing miserably in the rain flashed through my mind, and I faltered before scrubbing harder. I didn’t make him follow me or stand out there. If he caught a cold or…or hypothermia, that was on him.

I switched off the water with shaky hands.

I spent the next few hours eating instant ramen and attempting to edit photos, but I eventually gave up. I couldn’t focus, and my eyes ached from crying. I just wanted to pretend this afternoon never happened.

I called it an early night and climbed into bed, resisting the urge to look out the window. It’d been hours. It wasn’t like Alex would still be out there.