Harry Styles, a secret service agent working for British intelligence is tasked with finding the killer after a series of brutal but calculated murders across Europe. His mind is sharp, he's smart, arrogant and works with a precision that leaves no...
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Winter
"Goodnight, Harry."
Before I could turn to step inside, Harry was reaching for me. His hand found my cheek with such aching gentleness it made my breath catch. He drew me in without a word, his lips finding mine in a kiss that melted the tension from my shoulders. That was what he did. He always made me feel like everything was going to be okay. My hands moved instinctively, grasping his arms, wanting that extra aspect of touch, closeness between us. The kiss was soft, unhurried—a quiet kind of longing that lingered for just a few heartbeats, though there was a part of me that didn't want to pull away from him. I let out a low hum against his mouth, something between a sigh and a plea, suddenly wanting to just invite him in, to have him stay even though I'd told him I wanted the opposite.
When he finally pulled back, it was slow, reluctant. His thumb brushed across my cheek in a gentle stroke that made my skin burn, and I was left standing there, caught in the warmth of him, wondering how I could ever want him to leave. "Goodnight, flower."
Before I said anything else, I smiled once more and entered my flat, closing the door behind me without looking back. If I looked back, I wouldn't be able to close the door without him coming inside first.
As I heard his footsteps descending the stairs on the opposite side, I leaned against it, tipping my head back so it hit the door behind me. And I sighed.
Snap the fuck out of it, Winter.
I closed my eyes, wishing I could knock some fucking sense into myself, but instead, all I thought about was him. How I got into this position, how we got here. Every event that led to this very moment.
Harry was a complication. That was the only word I could think of to describe him— A complication. One that I should have avoided from the start. Other than being a complication, I didn't know what he was. I didn't know how to act around him, what was normal and what wasn't.
My entire life I'd been taught how to take control, how to play almost every situation to my advantage, but with Harry I was so fucking lost. Nothing pissed me off more than when he looked at me, because he really looked at me and seemed to see something more than someone who'd perfected the art of deception. He saw right fucking through me. Like he knew me in a way that made it impossible to keep my guard up, and I fucking hated him for it. I hated that I let him get this close, that I'd allowed myself to want him.
My eyes opened, I had to go to bed, sleep on this. I did want to spend the next few days trying to gather myself, a few days where I didn't have to be around people, and I could actually figure out what I was going to do.
When I stood up off the door, making my way to the bedroom, I hated that I smiled.
The warmth of his goodbye kiss still lingered on my lips.
Once I'd kicked off my shoes, my legs still a little weak from getting fucked in the front seat of his car, I padded down the hallway, needing to rest and not stand on my legs anymore. It felt that they were close to giving out beneath me.
