Chapter 12

• Clara burst into the bathroom like a hurricane, slamming the door so hard it rattled in the frame. Her heart was still going a mile a minute, thumping loud in her chest. Her skin felt hot, like it was still tingling from where Dante had held her—his arm around her waist, his chest pressed to her back. She didn’t know if he’d done it on purpose or if it was just some sleepy accident, but either way, it was messing her up. She twisted the faucet on full blast, the cold water rushing out fast. She scooped it up with both hands and splashed it onto her face, letting it drip down her neck. She wanted to wash it all away—the heat, the memory, the way her body wouldn’t calm down.
• This couldn’t happen. She couldn’t let herself feel anything for him—not a spark, not a shiver, nothing. Dante Costa was the bad guy here. He was the one chaining her to this life she didn’t want, locking her in with his smirks and his rules. She wasn’t supposed to react to him—not like this.
• But there it was, sneaking up on her anyway.