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【JOSEPHINE】

Fuck, this place is grand. My dad's condo is an urban paradise, but it's a shack compared to the Fiennes Tiffin house.

Marble counters.

Plush beige carpet.

Original artwork hanging on the walls.

The house still looks like it belongs to his parents. All clean and untouched and upscale.

Hero's room...

My stomach flutters at the memory of his sheer white curtains and his plain grey sheets.

"You want a drink?" He kicks the door closed and clicks the lock.

It's tempting. My nerves are threatening to swallow me whole.

I'm about to go upstairs with the only man I trust with my body.

With the one man who has the power to sew my heart back together.

Or tear it apart.

A drink is a good idea.

"Okay." I suck a breath through my teeth. Push aside feelings of déjà vu.

He moves into the kitchen. Fills two glasses with ice and brings both to me. "I keep booze in my room."

"Oh." My fingers brush his as I take the empty glass.

"So Mercy doesn't get it."

"Would she?"

"Probably not."

"But better safe than sorry?"

He nods a yeah and leads me up the stairs.

I turn over the words. They're not for me. This time, I get that. But they're meaningful anyway.

That's what I've been telling myself.

Better to keep his heart safe.

But maybe I'm not protecting him.

Maybe I'm protecting myself.

Or maybe that's an excuse for my libido.

At the moment, it's hard to say.

My desire for him outweighs everything.

"Where's your head going?" He pushes his bedroom door open.

God, it's familiar.

That same full-sized bed.

The same bookshelf overflowing with Star Wars books.

The same view of the backyard's glowing aqua pool.

His desk is right there, against a wall adorned with bio diagrams. It used to house my drawings. Hero kept his room here, even after he moved into his own place. Mercifully, he promised not to hang any of my artwork if I agreed to move in.

It was blackmail.

Incredibly effective blackmail.

He reaches for something in the bottom drawer of his clean, black desk.

A bottle of lemon vodka. The one they sell at Trader Joe's.

The cap bounces onto the slick surface.

He pours a generous shot.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?"

He chuckles as he fills his glass. "That isn't going to help my case."

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