When She Falls (The Fallen, #3)(39)

“Oh.”

I give him my hand, and his warm grip swallows it for the second it takes me to hop out of the car. Something zings lightly beneath my skin, and I shiver.

“Come on. This will only take a moment.”

I shake out my hand and follow behind him.

As we walk through the lot, we pass by a man with gray hair and a name tag. When he sees Ras, his face breaks into a smile, and he waves. They exchange a few friendly words in Spanish, and Ras laughs at something the man says. The corners of his eyes crinkle, and his whole face lights up.

It’s…devastating.

My heart flips inside my chest.

Jesus Christ. What’s wrong with me? The fact that Ras is handsome has never been lost on me, but I’ve always managed to ignore it. I usually filter that part of him out of my awareness.

The last few days must have broken that filter.

“You coming?”

My head snaps up to see Ras arching a brow at me. “Yep.”

We get to the elevators, and Ras gestures for me to go in first. He uses a fob, presses on the button labeled A, and comes to stand by my side.

“What does the A stand for?”

“Ático.”

“What is that? Penthouse?”

“Yes.”

“Fancy. Have a lot of guests?”

“Used to.”

The elevator moves at a glacial pace, giving me plenty of time to bask in the awkwardness between us. I might no longer hate him, but Ras seems intent on drawing a clear line between us.

I never thought I’d say this, but I miss the banter. It felt far better than this cool indifference.

Ras’s biceps brushes against my arm. His scent fills the tiny space.

Vanilla. Chocolate. Burnt wood.

Something tightens low inside my belly. Why does he have to smell so good?

I roll the hem of my shirt between the tips of my fingers and shoot him a sidelong glance.

He’s not looking at me. He’s focused on the elevator door, and a thick vein pulses in his neck.

When I let go of my shirt and accidentally brush my arm against his again, his jaw tightens.

Ding.

The door opens, and we both move at the same time.

Our bodies collide.

“Shit—”

“Sorry—”

Those big palms wrap around my shoulders, steadying me. Our eyes meet. His flash with some foreign emotion that he quickly blinks away.

“Go ahead.” He nudges me forward with a tap against the small of my back.

I feel lightheaded as we step directly into his place.

My mouth parts. The apartment takes up the entire floor, but it’s not the sprawling size that impresses me. It’s the view. On the other side of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows lies the Mediterranean, and the peninsula of the island wraps around it like a soft embrace.

I walk across the open-plan living room and stop in front of a window. Directly below is a long promenade with bikers and pedestrians weaving through shops. Open-air restaurants pepper the area, and there’s a narrow beach with a few groups of young people drinking beers and soaking up the sun. One guy’s taking photos of his girlfriend while she poses like a centerfold model.

I turn around to see Ras washing his hands at the kitchen sink. “You need to eat something before our flight,” he says, glancing at me.

“I’m not hungry.”

He dries his hands on a checkered kitchen towel before moving to open the fridge and pull out what looks to be a bag full of groceries.

Inside are a bunch of things that he quickly lays out on the counter.

Fruit, granola bars, yogurt, crackers, and a pack of gummy bears. The real ones, not the sugar-free kind Mamma occasionally allows me to buy at the grocery store.

“Pick something.”

I walk up to the counter and take the gummy bears. “Thanks.”

His eyes narrow. “Gemma.”

“What? You said to pick something, and I did.”

He plucks the gummy bears out of my hand. “You can have these, but only after you eat something with nutritional value. You lost a lot of nutrients because of your bug.”

“Does your job description really stretch this far?”

He runs his tongue over his top lip, shaking his head as he opens a drawer and takes a spoon from it. “Yes, unfortunately, it covers all kinds of unusual scenarios.”

He picks up a cup of peach yogurt.

My favorite.

Next thing I know, he’s handing the spoon and the yogurt to me. “Eat this.”

Our eyes clash together, and I can’t stand the way he’s looking at me.

Cold and closed off.

There’s none of the warmness from before, and the thing is, I’ve gotten used to it.

I’ve grown to like it.

And I want it back.

What do I have to do for that to happen? I’ve already apologized.

Frustration bubbles up inside of me. I fold my arms over my chest and shake my head.

“Do you not like this flavor?”

“I love peaches, but like I said, I’m not hungry.”

He observes me with flat-lipped silence before putting the yogurt and the spoon back down on the counter. Then his hands are on my waist, and he lifts me up to sit on it, my bare thighs sliding against the cool quartz.

“Hey!”