Kissing?

YIREN

"No. Nope."

"Yes. Yep."

I narrow my eyes at Jun, crossing my arms over my chest despite the ache in my ribs. His expression is unrelenting, his eyes hard like steel. If he thinks I'm going to willingly step into a freezing cold-water tub in this weather, he's got another thing coming.

"Look," he steps closer, towering over me. "You're either getting in on your own, or I'm throwing you in. Your choice." His tone is flat, matter-of-fact, and the intensity in his gaze says he's serious. Dead serious. I swallow, my resolve crumbling. In my current state, fighting him would be about as effective as a kitten swatting at a lion. The odds are not in my favor.

Grumbling under my breath, I glare at him. "Fine. Turn around."

He smirks—smirks—and then turns, broad back to me. I gingerly unhook my jeans, biting back a hiss of pain as I shimmy them down my legs. Every movement feels like someone is jabbing a hot poker into my ribs, but I keep an eye on him. One peek, and I'll kill him, injured or not.

The jeans are off, but my top? That's another story. Lifting my arms over my head to take it off is a no-go. My ribs scream in protest, and my strength just isn't there. I feel a sting of humiliation, but there's no way around it.

"Help," I mumble, my pride stinging almost as much as my ribs.

Jun turns, and for a split second, I swear his eyes widen at the sight of me standing there in nothing but my underwear. His gaze skims over my body, but his throat moves like he's trying to swallow a lump. My skin prickles under his stare, and suddenly, the room feels hotter despite the cold air. This is ridiculous.

"I can't get the top off," I add, my voice coming out far more timid than I intended.

He blinks, recovering quickly. "Lift your right arm." His voice is quieter now, softer. His fingers brush my skin as he reaches for the hem of my top. Goosebumps rise in response, and I can't decide if it's from the cold or from his touch. Maybe both. Gently—almost too gently—he frees my right arm first, then lifts the fabric over my head, sliding it down my left arm. Now, I'm standing there in just a bra and panties. The vulnerability is jarring, but I push it down.

I dip a toe into the tub and instantly hiss. "It's freezing!"

"Cold?"

"Very," I mutter through clenched teeth. I'm already regretting this decision, but there's no turning back. Jun's warm hands rest on my shoulders, guiding me into the tub, his palms radiating heat that contrasts sharply with the icy water. The sensation sends shivers down my spine, and not all of it is from the cold. His touch lingers a bit too long for my liking, and I cross my legs the moment I sink into the water. Thankfully, the bath salts and essential oils have turned the water a milky white, obscuring anything below the surface.

Jun presses a button, and jets of water pulse around me, massaging my sore muscles. I can't stop the moan of relief that slips from my lips, and when I glance up, I catch his heated gaze locked on me. My breath catches. The air between us thickens, the unspoken tension growing, curling around us like an invisible thread pulling us together.

His eyes are dark, intense, and I know he's thinking the same thing I am. This is dangerous.

He clears his throat, snapping the moment in half. "Five minutes," he says, glancing at his watch like he's trying to regain control. He steps forward, holding out a towel as I climb out of the tub, still shivering.

I catch his eyes flicker downward, and I can't help but roll mine. Really? My chest isn't that fascinating, especially compared to the women he's dated. I know I've got decent curves, but this man has been with supermodels and actresses. What's so special about me?

I glance down, and my cheeks burn. My traitorous chest is saluting him in full force.

"Jun, they're looking at you because it's freezing," I snap, mortified. Also, because you're insanely hot, but I'm not about to admit that.

His face flushes bright red, and he practically throws the towel over me. "I-I wasn't—" he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Big—no, I mean, uh, hard—no, jeez, forget it. I'll get you a T-shirt." He bolts out of the bathroom like he's being chased by a pack of wolves.

Part of me wants to throttle him for checking me out, but the other part of me remembers how I drooled over his bare chest the other day. Who am I to talk? Still, I find myself glancing in the mirror, wondering if I could ever compare to the kind of women he's used to.

Bear, sensing my shift in mood, nudges my leg, breaking my train of thought. He's carrying a small bag with a bright yellow sticker that says, "For you."

I unzip it and pull out a soft, worn dark blue T-shirt and… a pair of boxers? My face heats up again. Zian's boxers. Of course, this is his house.

Blushing furiously, I ditch my wet undergarments and pull on the shirt and boxers. The shirt feels like a cozy embrace, and the boxers… let's just say they're a little too big. I hope they don't fall off.

When I walk out of the bathroom, dinner is already laid out on the coffee table. Jun has changed into a matching set of comfy blue pajamas, but my eyes zero in on his exposed chest. His chiseled abs and the inked devil's wings spread across his pecs steal my breath. The pajamas hang dangerously low on his hips, and my gaze trails down, mesmerized.

Oh. My. God. Why does he have to be so hot? My heart skips a beat, and my fingers itch to trace the lines of his tattoos. I force myself to look away before I do something stupid, like drooling.

Then, he smiles. A warm, genuine smile, aimed directly at me. My heart stumbles, and I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting someone else to be there. But no, it's just me.

Before I can react, Jun closes the distance between us, his hand slipping into mine. He gently drapes an arm around my shoulders, and then—he kisses my cheek. Soft, tender, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"…"

"Why didn't you call for me, babe?" His voice is low, intimate, and my brain short-circuits. Babe? Who the hell is he calling babe? "Feeling better?"

My head is spinning. Absolutely not. I'm about to combust from sheer confusion and embarrassment.

I glare at him, ready to demand an explanation. "Wh—"

Before I can finish, he pinches the uninjured side of my waist and kisses my cheek again. What the actual hell? Does he have a death wish?

"Kissing? Really? Don't you think you're skipping a few steps?" I hiss, barely containing my irritation.

Jun laughs, pinching my cheeks until my lips form a fish-like pout. "Don't be naughty, little bunny," he says, his voice dripping with amusement. "Your injured body would break before I even get to step one tonight."

My face flushes bright red, and I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off by gently cupping my chin, turning my head toward the nightstand.

He leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. "Now," he whispers, his tone dropping to a low, teasing growl. "Go ahead with the show…"