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“Where’s your antibiotic ointment?” she asks, opening my top drawer on the left.
I open the drawer on the right and pull it out along with a fresh adhesive bandage.
Without a word, Mel takes them from my hands and stoops so my cut is at eye level. Using a Q-tip, she smears a generous amount of triple antibiotic across her perfectly placed stitches. Then she opens the packaging for my bandage and carefully applies it.
“You know, if you ever decided modeling wasn’t the right career for you, you could make an impressive nurse,” I observe.
Mel snorts. “It takes money to go to nursing school. And too many hours away from Gabby.”
“Fair point.”
Straightening, Mel comes to a stand before me. She’s close—too close. And my heart skips a beat as her presence becomes unnecessary. Suddenly, there’s no excuse for her to touch me. I miss her hands already.
Her chin tips up so she can meet my gaze. It gives her long neck a beautiful curve as her curtain of thick black hair falls back over her shoulder. It’s only then that I realize she’s taken her hair down from the intricate style she must have worn for her photoshoot.
Her full lips part softly, revealing the tip of her tantalizingly pink tongue.
What I wouldn’t give to kiss her right now.
My muscles tense with the thought of it, eager to put my errant idea into action.
The air freezes in my lungs as the devil on my shoulder tempts me to follow through with it. To simply wrap my arms around her waist and pull her close. To claim her lips and feel how soft and supple they are against mine. To taste her as I breathe in her intoxicating lemon-vanilla scent.
Then, like a bucket of ice-cold water, I recall the story she just told me about her uncle’s friends. Paying to have the privilege of kissing her. And Mel had no say in the matter. She’s in such a vulnerable position right now. I would be no better than Chuck if I kissed her.
Because I know she wouldn’t refuse me.
She thinks she owes me something.
9
MEL
For a moment, I really thought Gleb might kiss me. My heart skipped a beat. Butterflies erupted in my stomach—because I doubted whether he would ever want to kiss me again.
And for that one second, he glanced down at my lips, his green eyes darkening.
But then he didn’t.
Instead, he used dinner getting cold as an out.
And now, as he pulls a T-shirt over his head, covering his perfectly toned body, I feel that painful distance growing between us. Wordlessly, I follow him out of the bedroom.
As we enter the main living space, I can’t help the disappointment that washes over me.
I really wish he’d kissed me. I really wanted him to. I still do.
My chest aches with the absence of his lips I could almost feel on mine.
Like the ghost of a kiss we once shared.
I fear that Gleb could end up controlling my life like all the other men whose protection I’ve fallen under. Despite that, my feelings for him continue to grow. He has this silent strength, a selfless discipline about him. He makes decisions based on what’s good for the people he cares about, rather than acting selfishly on impulse.
That’s why I want to try rekindling the connection we had. But I can’t tell if he’s even open to the possibility.
Forcing my pity party to the back of my mind, I pick up the pace as we near the kitchen.
“I hope you like scallion chicken with rice,” I say brightly.
