Page 91 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You

He stands from the bed and disappears into the bathroom. I am left with what I am sure is a most unbecoming, love struck expression, which I inwardly despise, yet I cannot suppress my smile.

He returns a moment later with a cloth in hand. His touch is gentle as he cleans me, the silence between us oddly comforting, there’s no need for words.

A glance at the clock on the bedside table confirms that if we’re to be downstairs by nine, we’ll have to leave the warmth of this bed.

I slip into the bathroom for a quick shower, but Arlo follows. I shake my head, unable to hide the small smile tugging at my lips.

“Don’t,” I murmur, but the wicked curve of his lips tells me my protest is futile.

He steps into the shower, his body glistening, and captures my mouth in a searing kiss that draws a whimper from me. “You are insatiable.”

“As are you, my love,” he whispers against my skin.

After another dizzying orgasm against the marble tiles, we finally exit.

I step into the closet and pull on a cream thermal turtleneck and matching leggings, the fabric soft and close against my skin.

Over them, I slip into my Fendi ski suit and fasten the belt neatly at my waist.

I twist my hair into a low ponytail, then pull on my snow boots and gloves.

When we step downstairs, everyone’s already gathered. We always seem to be the last to make it down.

Voices overlap, some laughing, some arguing, the usual chaos of too many big personalities in one chalet.

“Good morning,” I say, stepping into the kitchen.

Arlo’s presence is right behind me.

Adelaide stands in front of the open fridge, hair falling loose from a braid, pulling things out at random, milk, eggs, berries, butter, none of which she seems remotely sure what to do with.

“I was hoping we could just leave now and get breakfast through a drive through or something,” I say.

Octavia’s perched on the counter, phone in hand. She looks up at me, then points toward Adelaide. “Yes, please, I second that. Don’t let that woman near an open flame, she’ll burn the house down and take us all with her.”

Adelaide narrows her eyes. “I heard that.”

“Good. It was meant for you to hear,” Octavia says, not even glancing up again.

A spatula sails across the kitchen, narrowly missing my sister’s head. She ducks, laughing as it clatters to the floor. “You really ought to work on your aim, Addie,” she says.

Milo straightens, his expression hardening. “Don’t you dare throw things at my woman,” he warns, voice unnervingly calm. “Or else…”

Isaak, who has been leaning against the counter with a mug in hand, turns his head slowly. “Finish that sentence, Markev,” he says, “and I’ll put a bullet through you.”

They hold each other’s gaze, the tension between them stretched tight, neither one willing to yield.

Octavia exhales sharply. “Right, that’s enough testosterone for one morning. Let’s get out of here. We’ll grab breakfast on the way.”

She narrows her eyes at Milo. “And for the record, I don’t need you to defend me.”

He gives a faint smirk. “Too bad. I’m doing it anyway.”

My sister is up and gone a moment later, muttering under her breath as everyone disperses to fetch their ski jackets.

Already dressed, I step outside and make my way toward the garage, the cold nipping pleasantly at my cheeks.

Snow drifts in slow, lazy spirals, blanketing the world in white as the others begin to spill out behind me.