Chapter 21

**A L E X**

Without thinking, I reach out to fix them. My fingers brush against the fabric, never touching her skin, as I reach the button that is free. I think she goes stiff when my finger reaches the button, but she doesn’t move away. My fingers slowly move downwards, to the first wrongly hooked button. A flick of my fingers and it comes undone, I retreat almost immediately before the fabric can separate, and I could end up making contact with her skin. But I see it, from the small passage I have created right in the centre of the small of her back, the inward arch of her spine. The soft curve of her back.

Though it is nothing I have not seen, it still feels new, fresh, unparalleled. She was swimming many metres away that morning, her skin was covered in a thin sheen of water, and just when I was about to step in and go closer, I’d caught myself and returned.

Today, right now, she is right here, only millimetres away from my fingers. I could touch her by mistake. I could feel her, and it wouldn’t completely be my fault.

I part my lips to let air in when my lungs start feeling empty, only partly, as if any frantic movement would break the moment, shatter the very thin bubble that I have somehow entrapped myself in with her. Or maybe she is the one that’s entrapped me, that sounds more logical. But for some reason, I find myself wanting to ignore logic, just for a little longer.

My fingers work delicately but quickly to undo the other button at the base of her waist, creating a wider opening that is a little too tempting, and suddenly I know why my logic was warning me against it. Though there is one still left and it irks me till I’ve undone it.

The moment the last button comes undone, she inhales sharply, and my gaze jumps up to meet hers in the mirror. There is something different about her eyes this time, they’re dark and sharp, almost on the edge, and it makes me curious in a very dangerous way. I watch her, as she watches me, aware of my fingers on the back of her dress. The slow, careful breathing through her lips act like a silent acknowledgement as I reach out and pull the last button and hook it on the right way this time.

I snake my fingers over to the next button and hook it back in place, only two left. I button up the third while never breaking eye contact with her in the mirror. For a man who hasn’t had to undress a woman in his life–since they already come to me clothless–I am alarmingly good at these buttons business.

I reach for the final button, my fingers reach for the hook, but it’s not where it should be. I try again, reaching for the small circular hook made of fabric but end up running my fingers on something warm, soft, and curvy–SHIT.

I touched Grace Millers.

No. My skin touched Grace Millers’ skin.

She sucks in a breath so loud it shoots my hand away before she jumps in place and steps away, knocking the mirror behind her in the process. The wood framed pane of polished glass meets the floor very close to where she stands and shatters. I don’t get the time to think before I reach out and pull on her sleeved arm to move her away from the shards. But as if I my grip cuts her deeper than the glass ever could, she pulls away in a jolt and takes several steps back. My eyes go wide at her revolt, just as it does at my own thoughtless action of trying to save her.

Save Grace Millers?

I must be going mad.

She stands as far away from me as possible in the room, her breathing erratic enough to make her chest rise and fall faster than I could count. I watch her with a mix of annoyance, and rage till the staff walks in and starts apologising for what was clearly not her fault.

A few more walk in, some begin to solve the glass situation, two come to check on us for any wounds, I immediately shoo away the girl that tries to inspect me. The other takes hold of Grace Millers–who hasn’t looked at me for a whole minute now–and guides her out of the room to a different sitting area. She is almost at the exit when she stops and turns back, her eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a moment and, although she doesn't say something, I read something defiant and rebellious in her gaze. Then her eyes move and fall at the pair of black heels that still stood at one of the podiums on the side. She frees herself from the store staff's grip and grabs the shoes before exiting the room, her eyes never leaving mine the entire time.

I cannot help but let the smirk take over my mouth until I spot the wet and red blood trails on the floor leading to the exit.

OH MY FUCKING GOD.

Sophie's going to kill me.