Page 78 of The Defender

An idea clicked into place. I ran to my room on the third floor, grabbed what I needed, and went back upstairs.

Last door on the left.

I hesitated for a second before knocking. Maybe he wasn’t here. Maybe?—

“Come in.”

My stomach flipped. I had no reason to be nervous. I talked to Vincent all the time. Seeing him in Budapest was the same as seeing him in London.

I took a deep breath and entered the room. “I…” My greeting died in my throat.

Oh, God.

I’d walked in at the worst time. Or the best time, depending on how you looked at it.

Vincent was facing away from the door, half naked and in the process of pulling a white T-shirt over his head. Gray sweatpants rode low on his hips, and I glimpsed the mouthwatering flex of his chiseled back muscles before his shirt covered it.

It wasn’t my first time seeing him shirtless, but there was something aboutthisparticular moment that hit me like a lightning strike in a quiet field.

Every nerve ending lit up. Heat surged through me, and my palms tingled with the need to run my hands over his back and feel the hard planes of muscle beneath my fingertips.

Vincent turned. His eyes locked on mine, and I knew—Iknew—he felt it too.

The shift.

The charge in the air.

It felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of us in this room, and we were both caught in a pull so magnetic, I could feel every inch of his presence from across the room.

Then he spoke, and the tension shattered.

“You made it. How was your flight?” He sounded way too calm compared to my racing pulse. “I figured you were going to crash last night, so I didn’t say hi. I was going to find you later, but you beat me to it.”

“The flight was good.” I matched his unaffected tone, irrationally annoyed by his composure. If I was thrown off-balance, he should be too. “How was last night?”

“Good.” His cheek dimpled, and a devilish gleam entered his eyes. “Enjoy the show?”

My cheeks flamed when I realized what he meant.Arrogant jerk.“I’ve seen better.”

“There’s that bad taste again.”

“There’s that giant ego again. We all have our faults.”

“So you admit it. You have bad taste.”

“I guess so. If that’s the case, you probably don’t want your birthday gift…” I made a show of holding up the gift bag and leaving, but I only took two steps before Vincent caught up to me.

“Wait, wait.” His hand closed around my wrist. He sounded like he was trying not to laugh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult yourimpeccabletaste.”

My skin tingled beneath his touch, but I brushed it aside and gave him an impudent smile. “That’s what I thought. So easily swayed.”

“Don’t act so cocky yet. Let’s see what you got me first.” He released me to take the gift box. “What is this? A Whoopee cushion? A T-shirt that says ‘Vincent DuBois Sucks’?”

I shrugged. “Open it and find out.”

Despite my feigned indifference, my stomach fluttered with nerves as he tore away the gift wrap and opened the box.

His lips parted. He stared at its contents for a long, agonizing moment before he broke into peals of rich laughter.