Chapter 4 #4

{Melanie's P.O.V}

I couldn't sleep.

I tossed and turned on the foreign mattress for hours, my mind racing in endless, chaotic loops.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw flashes of the high-definition photo on the sports blog, the headline calling me a mole, and the horrific death threats flooding my inbox.

Unable to take the dark confinement of the guest room any longer, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood up.

I didn't bother changing or pulling on a robe. I was wearing an oversized, grey tee and a pair of tiny cotton pajama shorts that had ridden up high on my thighs while I was wrestling with the sheets.

The house was freezing, but the moment I rounded the corner into the open-concept kitchen, my breath caught squarely in my throat.

Ace was standing there.

He was leaning back against the sleek marble kitchen counter, completely shirtless.

My gaze trailed down to his chest, ink drawn over his chest and on his arm.

He holding a glass of ice water, but he wasn't drinking. He was just standing there, as if he’d been waiting for me.

My steps faltered, my toes gripping the cold hardwood floor.

Slowly, Ace turned his head toward me. His dark, hooded eyes locked onto mine, heavy and unreadable in the dim light.

Then, with a slow, agonizing deliberation, his gaze dropped from my eyes down to the full length of my thighs exposed by my shorts.

A violent wave of heat pooled low in my belly. To my utter horror and betrayal, my nipples instantly hardened under my t-shirt, tightening into stiff, aching peaks that pressed visibly against the cotton, begging for release.

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

It’s fucking Ace... Zayn’s best friend. He’s the guy who ignores you.

Desperate to break the suffocating spell, I forced my eyes away from his chest and hastily walked into the kitchen, keeping as much distance between us as the marble island allowed.

I reached for a glass from the upper cabinet, opened the refrigerator, and poured myself a drink.

I set the glass down, gripped the edge of the counter, and turned to make a quick, clean escape back to the safety of my room.

I hadn't taken two steps toward the doorway when his voice cut through the quiet.

"Did you fuck Ken?"

The question hit me like a physical slap. I stopped dead in my tracks, my spine going rigid, my breath locking in my throat.

"What's it to you?" I asked, keeping my back turned to him, clutching the edge of my t-shirt to keep my hands from shaking.

"What? You can't say it to my face?" he taunted quietly. "You can go to his apartment at two in the morning, let him ruin your life, but you can't even turn around and look at me when I ask you a question?"

"You know I can," I replied though I still refused to turn around and give him the satisfaction of seeing my flushed face.

"Then do it," he commanded.

"Put on a shirt, Ace," I said, finally casting a glance over my shoulder, trying to look unimpressed despite the lethal view of his bare torso. "You aren't living alone anymore."

He went completely silent for a while before walking toward me.

I spun around, intent on pushing past him, but he closed the distance way too fast. Ace stepped straight into my personal space, towering over me.

I took a quick step back, but Ace didn't stop. He kept advancing, his dark eyes locked onto mine while tracking my movement.

I continued until my back hit the flat, solid surface of the kitchen wall with a soft thud.

Before I could even register the impact, Ace was right there, closing the final inch between us. He didn't touch me with his body, but he was so impossibly close I could feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest just millimeters from mine.

A slow, dark smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

Without breaking eye contact for a single second, his long, calloused fingers reached down and wrapped around the glass of water in my hand.

He slid it out of my trembling grip with effortless ease, reaching over my shoulder to set it on the small accent table beside the wall, his chest brushing against my arm in the process.

He then lifted my hand, guiding it slowly through the air until he flattened my palm directly against his bare, lower abs.

The contact sent a literal shockwave through my entire nervous system.

His skin was cold, terrifyingly smooth, and stretched tight over pure, hard muscle. I felt the sharp ridges of his torso beneath my fingers, the subtle twitch of his muscles as his breath caught in his throat.

"If we are going to make them believe we are a couple," Ace whispered, his voice dropping an octave into a low, raspy growl that vibrated straight through my palm into my chest, "you better get used to having your hands all over me."

I couldn't move. I couldn't pull away.

Entranced, my fingers moved on pure, unadulterated instinct. I traced the hard, sculpted lines of his abdomen. He was agonizingly, ridiculously hot—a towering masterpiece of muscle and possessive energy standing in a dark kitchen at two in the morning, and the realization that his body was reacting to my touch made my lower stomach coil tightly.

I looked up, meeting his eyes. Ace was staring down at me, his dark pupils blown wide, his gaze heavy, hazy, and completely dark with a raw, restraint-testing desire that made my heart slam against my ribs.

The sheer intensity of his stare snapped me right back to reality like a bucket of ice water.

What are you doing?!

The sudden realization of where I was, whose hands were on whose body, hit me with brutal force.

My cheeks flared into a blinding, scalding blush. I yanked my hand back so fast it felt like his skin had physically scorched my palm.

"Get away from me!" I gasped, my hand slamming into his chest to push him back.

He barely moved an inch, but he allowed me enough room to slide out from between him and the wall.

I turned on my heel, my heart threatening to burst through my ribcage, and practically bolted toward the hallway, desperate to put three locked doors between myself and his terrifying, irresistible presence.

"You forgot your water!"

His voice hit me from behind dripping with smug satisfaction.

Mortified, I skidded to a halt at the edge of the corridor. I turned back, keeping my eyes firmly locked on the floor, snatched the glass off the table and sprinted down the hall without looking at him again.

Behind me, the dark sound of his chuckle echoed through the quiet house, following me all the way to my bedroom.

I slammed the guest room door shut, threw the lock, and closed my eyes, squeezing them shut, praying silently that the floor would open up and swallow me whole before morning came.