Chapter 5

Her eyes widened in disbelief as she took in the sight before her. His toned body leaned comfortably against the backrest of the couch, his arm draped casually over it. Muscles sculpted by years of consistent effort, defined abs, strong shoulders, and a chiseled chest, glistened slightly from the humidity in the room. A single drop of rainwater trailed down his collarbone before disappearing into the line of his torso.

He grinned, clearly unfazed by her stunned silence. "What? It's really hot in here," he said, his tone feigning innocence while his eyes sparkled with amusement. "Now, be a sweetheart and hand over that glass?"

Lyra swallowed and handed him the water, trying not to stare. I mean, yeah, it's hot... but that hot? Then again, I've lived here long enough to be used to it. Maybe he's just sensitive to heat... or maybe he's just using this as an excuse to take his shirt off.

Vincent took the glass with a nod of thanks, then tilted it back to take a long drink. Lyra couldn't help but watch, his Adam's apple bobbing with every gulp, a drop of water escaping the corner of his mouth and trailing down his chest. The sight had no right to be that mesmerizing.

Stop looking. For the love of all things holy, stop looking!

Just then, lightning flashed violently outside, illuminating the room in a stark white glow. Thunder cracked only a second later, loud and sudden. Vincent jumped slightly, choking on the last mouthful of water. He set the glass down hastily, his eyes wide, hands trembling as he stared at them in mild disbelief.

"Damn it," he muttered, voice barely above a whisper, not looking at her. "I didn't think it'd hit that close..."

Lyra hurried over to the couch, sitting beside him. She placed a gentle hand on his bare back and lightly tapped in a calming rhythm. His skin was smooth, surprisingly warm to the touch. Her fingertips almost lingered too long as she whispered, "There, there. Don't be scared now."

Another flash of lightning split the sky, and this time, the thunder was even louder, almost like a cannon blast. Vincent flinched, shutting his eyes tightly and clapping his hands over his ears. His muscles tensed, and for the first time since she met him, he looked vulnerable. Not flirtatious, not smug, just a boy afraid of the storm.

Her heart ached a little at the sight.

He saved me from a man twice my size without flinching... but here he is, shaking like a leaf because of thunder. He's not just arrogant. He's human too.

Lyra shifted slightly closer and kept her hand on his back, silently hoping her presence could offer some comfort, just as his had, time and again.

Vincent glanced at Lyra, his voice barely above a whisper. "Can I hold you, sweetie?"

Lyra froze. Her hand, which had been gently patting his back in an attempt to soothe him, now hovered uncertainly in midair. Her cheeks flared a deep crimson, and her heart skipped a beat as her mind scrambled to process his words.

Hold me? Seriously? What are we, starring in some romance drama? No. No way. She swallowed thickly. Then again... he's trembling like a leaf. Maybe this isn't about romance... or is it?

Before she could utter a single word, Vincent's arms swiftly wrapped around her waist and, with surprising ease, he pulled her onto his lap, positioning her so that she straddled his hips.

Her breath hitched audibly, and her body stiffened with disbelief as she found herself suddenly much closer than she had ever imagined being with him.

His strong arms locked around her protectively, and his face nuzzled into the curve of her neck, the warmth of his breath brushing against her skin. He inhaled slowly, deeply, like he was memorizing her scent.

Lyra's eyes widened, every muscle in her body going taut. What the hell? What is happening right now? This man really just made me into a weighted blanket. Her heart thumped erratically. This isn't happening. It is not happening. I must be dreaming. Or hallucinating. I knew I shouldn't have skipped lunch.

"What are you doing, Vincent?" she finally managed, her voice barely a murmur.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he mumbled against her neck. "Please shut up and let me hold you."

His voice was muffled, low, and thick with something unfamiliar, vulnerability. It disarmed her more than anything else he could have said.

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