Page 17 of Mile High Ruin

Her eyes snap to mine. She knows. She watched me serve the others without so much as trembling the surface of their glasses. She looks horrified enough that I almost apologize to her.

“I’m taking Mr. Chernovar to the restroom to clean it.”

Camille’s mouth parts.

Behind me, Vadim says nothing.

“I can handle it,” Camille says quickly.

“No.” The word comes from Vadim.

Camille falls silent.

“She offered,” he continues. “She will do it.” His voice is calm, but I hear the amusement he’s refusing to show.

I hate him for enjoying this.

I hate myself more for giving him the opportunity.

I open the restroom door.

The space is far too small. I know that immediately. It’s designed for one person, not two, especially when one of them is built like Vadim. There’s a narrow sink, a mirrored cabinet, and barely enough room to turn without brushing against the walls.

I should tell him to wait outside. I should retrieve the stain remover and bring it to the cabin. Instead, I step inside and turn toward him.

He follows.

I don’t close the door. There’s no reason to.

The open doorway does nothing to make the space feel less intimate.

Vadim stands directly in front of me, broad shoulders almost filling the opening. The ceiling seems lower around him. He smells faintly of cedar, smoke, and the wine now soaking into his shirt.

I reach for the cabinet above the sink. My hand misses the latch the first time.

Behind me, he is silent.

I open it and find a small bottle of stain remover, clean cloths, and a packet of wipes. My fingers feel clumsy despite the fact that I’ve performed far more complicated tasks in worse conditions.

I turn back.

The stain begins near the center of his chest and spreads down over his abdomen. More of the champagne stain blooms across one thigh.

My mouth goes dry. “I’ll start with the shirt.”

“An excellent plan.” His voice is dry.

I look up at him. “Do you want this cleaned or not?”

“I’m standing in a restroom at your request, Miss Mercer.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

His pale eyes hold mine. “Yes,” he says. “I want you to clean it.”

The way he says it sends a warm, unwanted pull through my stomach. I look down before he can see the reaction in my face.

I wet the cloth, apply the stain solution, and press it against his chest. The white fabric is warm from his skin. So is the body beneath it.