The hallway of the old apartment building smelled faintly of mildew and regret, but Lila Voss didn’t give a damn. At 28, she’d clawed her way through enough bad design clients to know a little grit never hurt anyone. Strutting down the narrow corridor, her silk robe—barely a whisper of fabric against her skin—clung to her curves like a lover who knew better than to let go. The flickering fluorescent lights overhead cast playful shadows on the peeling wallpaper, but Lila’s focus was razor-sharp, zeroed in on the bassline thumping through the walls from apartment 3B.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered, her voice a low growl of irritation laced with amusement. “Does this jackass think he’s running a club at 9 p.m. on a Tuesday? I’ve got deadlines, not a death wish for sleep.”
Her bare feet slapped against the worn linoleum as she stopped in front of Ethan’s door, adjusting the robe just enough to ensure it didn’t slip into indecent territory—though, if it did, she wouldn’t exactly cry over it. With a smirk curling her lips, she raised a fist and banged on the door with the authority of a woman who wasn’t here to play nice.
The door swung open, and there he was—Ethan Harper, 30 years old, freelance writer, and perpetual pain in her ass. Shirtless, of course, because why bother with decency when you’ve got abs that could double as a washboard? He leaned against the doorframe, a beer in one hand, his dark hair a disheveled mess that somehow looked intentional. His hazel eyes flicked over her, taking in the silk robe with a slow, appreciative smirk that made her want to slap him—or worse, smile back.
“Well, damn, Voss,” Ethan drawled, his voice a lazy rumble. “If I’d known you were gonna show up dressed for a midnight fantasy, I’d have turned the music up sooner.”
Lila crossed her arms, the movement causing the robe to slip just a fraction, revealing a hint of thigh. She didn’t bother fixing it. Let him squirm. “Funny, Harper. I’m here to tell you to turn that god-awful noise down before I shove your speaker where the sun doesn’t shine. What even is this garbage? Nickelback’s reject playlist?”
Ethan’s grin widened, unfazed. “Ouch, princess. Hit a man where it hurts, why don’t you? And here I thought you were just parading around like you own the hallway to get my attention.”
“Oh, please,” Lila shot back, her tone dripping with mock disdain. Her eyes, traitorously, lingered on the hard lines of his chest a second too long before snapping back to his face. “I’d sooner flirt with the roach in my kitchen than waste my time on a guy who thinks ‘louder’ equals ‘cooler.’ But since I’m here, why don’t you invite me in so I can complain properly? Or are you scared I’ll outwit you in your own dump?”
Ethan chuckled, stepping aside with an exaggerated bow. “Mi casa es su casa, Your Majesty. Come on in. Let’s see if you can keep that sharp tongue of yours in check.”
The air crackled as Lila brushed past him, the edge of her robe grazing his bare arm. She felt the heat of his proximity, the faint scent of beer and something woodsy curling around her senses, but she didn’t falter. Inside, his apartment was a chaotic masterpiece—books stacked haphazardly, empty coffee mugs on every surface, a laptop glowing with half-written nonsense. She didn’t wait for an invitation, plopping onto his couch like she’d been there a hundred times, her legs crossed with deliberate precision to show just enough skin.
“Nice place,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm as she surveyed the mess. “Did a tornado hit, or is this just your attempt at ‘bohemian chic’? Either way, I’m not leaving ‘til that music’s off, so you might as well deal with me.”
Ethan shut the door, still grinning like a man who knew he was in over his head but couldn’t resist the challenge. “You’re a real piece of work, Lila. Want a drink while you’re busy taking over my space? Or are you too busy plotting my demise?”
“Pour me something strong, writer boy,” she replied, leaning back against the cushions, her robe slipping just a bit more off her shoulder. “I need it to survive the tragedy of your interior design choices.”
He laughed, grabbing a glass and a bottle of whiskey from a cluttered shelf. As he poured, he sauntered over, handing her the drink with a casual brush of his fingers against hers. The contact sent a jolt through her, but Lila played it cool, raising an eyebrow as she took a sip.
“Careful, Ethan,” she purred, her voice low and teasing. “Keep touching me like that, and I might think you’re trying to flirt. Which, by the way, you’re terrible at. Obvious much?”
Ethan faltered for a split second, his smirk twitching as he sat on the armrest opposite her, his gaze locked on the way her lips curled around the glass. “Obvious? Nah. Distracted? Hell yeah. I’ve been a little… preoccupied since you moved in, storming around in outfits like that. Hard to focus on deadlines when I’ve got a hurricane next door.”
Lila let out a sharp, delighted laugh, setting the glass down and standing up in one fluid motion. She towered over him now, her robe slipping further, revealing the smooth curve of her collarbone as she leaned in close. “Aw, poor baby. Can’t handle a little distraction? Then maybe you should do something about it, genius. Or are you all talk and no game?”
The air between them thickened, charged with a heat that neither could ignore. Ethan’s eyes darkened, his breath hitching as he stood to meet her, closing the distance until they were inches apart. “All talk?” he murmured, his voice rough, his breath hot against her ear. “Keep pushing, Lila, and you’ll find out exactly what I’m made of.”
Her lips curved into a wicked smirk, her hand reaching up to grab his collar, tugging him even closer. Her voice dropped to a whisper, sharp and taunting. “Big words for a guy who can barely keep up. Think you can handle me, Harper? I’m not so sure.”
Their lips hovered, a mere breath apart, the tension a live wire ready to spark. Lila’s heart raced, but she held her ground, her gaze daring him to make the next move. Whatever happened next, she was in control—and she damn well knew it.
To be continued…
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