I'm floating.

No, I'm shot into the sky with a force and intensity I definitely didn't expect, because Hayden Cross keeps his promises. He is the all-or-nothing kind of guy, pulling every string to make me feel appreciated, wanted, and most of all, seen. He awakens something in me, something energizing, life-changing, and utterly dangerous.

Antonio is a tad too flirty for my liking, and he talks us through the different coffees and grinds and roasts and everything that comes with it. But I'm unable to listen to half of what he said. Hayden just keeps shooting me those undressing glances, keeps stealing not-so-accidental touches, and it's almost impossible not to give in to him, not to melt under his gaze.

I'm glad when Antonio starts packing up, leaving Hayden and me at the other corner of the terrace. His arms circle around my waist, tugging me closer to his chest as his heavy breath travels down my neck, the sensation sending goosebumps over my skin. "Hayden," I breathe out, but I feel the smirk on his lips when they hover over the sensitive spot behind my ear.

"Yes, love?" He rests his chin on my shoulder, his five-o'clock-shadow scratching my neck in the most pleasurable way possible, and I try my hardest not to sigh out loud from the sensation of his skin on mine.

I don't acknowledge Hayden's newfound nickname for me, even though it makes my mouth go dry within a split second. Because the way he says it, like I'm the only one who should be called that, is mind-blowingly sexy, and I can't deny that I like the name. Way more than I should.

And then he starts kissing my neck, sending jolts of electricity through my whole body as his lips travel down to my collarbone, where he whispers against my skin, "You were saying...?"

My mind is working on overdrive, racing at a hundred miles per hour as I try to focus on the situation we're in. "He's..." I have to clear my throat, my voice stuck somewhere between the sparks flying through my veins and the scent of his aftershave. "He's still here..."

Hayden simply continues, his fingers intertwining in front of my stomach as his hot breath travels down my chest. "I'm aware..." His voice is so deep, I can feel the vibration travel through my chest from how close we are.

"Then why..." I suck in a breath when he suddenly grazes his teeth over my skin. "Why are you doing what...what you're doing?" I place my hands over his own on my stomach, not knowing where else to put them. Antonio glances in our direction, and I clear my throat once more, trying to signal Hayden that this is...rude? I don't know.

"Because I don't like the way he looks at you."

His statement makes me tilt my head to look at him, his eyes now shooting daggers at Antonio in front of us. "You what?"

"Lucky..." He growls. "Your hearing."

"Sorry. I heard what you said, I mean, I don't—"

"You don't what?" he interrupts and averts his stare to look straight at me, a hint of heat and possessiveness glimmering in his green eyes.

"I don't...I don't know why," I answer honestly.

"You don't know why I don't like the way he looks at you?"

I don't even get to respond to that, though. Instead, Antonio suddenly stands in front of us, stretching out his hand.

"Signor, signora. It was a pleasure to host you this day. I hope you have a fine evening," he says and shakes my hand, his eyes burning on my skin as he validates me with his gaze. I feel so dirty suddenly that I flinch when I remove my hand from his own before I place it in Hayden's right next to me.

Antonio doesn't seem flustered, though. He just moves his hand to Hayden, who now stares him down like a bull, squaring up to full height behind me. "You can go now." His voice thunders around us, and I can't help but stare at him with wide eyes—if it wasn't so unearthly sexy, I would've said it was really rude. But I can't deny I'm glad when Antonio walks off, shaking his head on the way to the elevator.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Hayden spins me around and pushes me to the wall behind us, his large hands planted against the bricks next to my head. "I think there are some things I need to make clear, Lucky." The way he growls makes me swallow, my mouth suddenly as dry as the bricks behind me. "First: I'll always hate when other men look at you. Especially the way this fucking guy did. Because I'm really goddamn territorial, Mila. And even though this is new and undiscovered, I want to be the one to discover it. The only one."

His voice is so firm and authoritative that I can't stop the shiver running down my spine.

"Second," he adds, "just in case I haven't mentioned it before. You look...you look dangerously ravishing tonight, Lucky. And I hope you fucking feel like it too." He closes the distance between us, his body now brushing mine, his bicep twitching from pushing himself off the wall. "Because not jumping you and having you against this goddamn wall right now is fucking torture, and it's worth going through it. You're worth it, Lucky. But all this is useless if you can't see how goddamn beautiful you are."

I'm at a loss for words with this man. The way he expresses himself, how he handles himself and others, especially me, is breathtaking and so unbelievably refreshing that tears sting in my eyes from the weight of his words. And because I don't want this to turn into another crying-Mila session, and also because I just can't stand this tension anymore, I fling my arms around him and pull him down, our lips colliding in an instant.

Hayden staggers a little but quickly composes himself as he cages me in, diminishing every inch of space between us with another deep kiss. We're in a heated frenzy, and I don't even know what I'm doing when I jump into his arms, this earth-shattering need to be close to him, to feel every inch of his body, taking over my senses.

He catches me with ease as my tongue challenges his own; I'm almost oblivious to the weightless feeling when Hayden moves us, and only seconds later I'm being laid down on a cushion, probably the couch that's here. I find a firm grip in his hair, pulling him even closer, his tongue fighting and dancing with mine as we grope each other like horny teenagers.

"Take off your shirt." I whisper the words, but Hayden pulls back with a raised brow, caging me in with his muscular arms.

"I don't know if that's the best—"

"Take. Off. Your. Shirt." I command, a sudden sense of confidence clouding my mind.

For a second Hayden just looks at me, and I almost think he'll laugh, but the atmosphere suddenly sparkles with tension, and seconds later he leans back and removes his shirt.

The second he kisses me again, we're caught in this explosive frenzy; this time my fingers rake over his back, chest, ribs... This irrational passion gets the best of me, and I push forward, reversing the roles by pressing him on the couch, his hard body beneath mine now as I sit on his lap. I can feel his gaze lingering on me as I trace every muscle, every contour in sight with my fingertips, memorizing all of him as detailed as physically possible.

"You're so beautiful," I whisper, but only seconds later he taps his finger beneath my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"You're the beautiful one, Mila."

I want to avert my gaze to hide the heat that creeps into my cheeks, but it's physically impossible for me to do so, being pinned down by his igniting gaze. "I'm not too sure about that. Have you looked at yourself?"

"Have you looked at yourself?" he immediately retorts. "I mean, really looked at yourself?"

I simply don't know what to say. Of course I've looked at myself. I know I'm not ugly. I know I can look pretty decent if I want to.

"Answer me." Again there's this authority in his voice when he stares me down, like a teacher waiting for his student's answer.

I'm glad he doesn't stop me from avoiding his gaze, my eyes now focusing on my hand on his shoulder. "I have."

"Then you should know how mind-blowingly beautiful you are."

And I believe him when he says that, I really do. He might see me that way, but it's hard for me to do the same.

"Say it."

His words make me look up at him. "Say what?"

"Tell me how beautiful you are, Lucky. I need to hear it from you. Because you're driving me crazy by looking the way you do, and I need to know you're aware of the effect you have on me."

"I..." I try to wiggle out of his grip, suddenly overwhelmed and absolutely out of place with this hunk of a man beneath me.

"No. No way." He cups my face, securing my position with a determination in his eyes that makes me afraid to move. "There's no way you're running away now, Mila."

If it weren't for his physical force used on me, holding me tightly on top of him like it's the only place I belong, it'd be his gaze pinning me down that makes it impossible for me to move.

"You. Are. Beautiful." He stresses every word. "Tell me."

"I'm beautiful," I give in, suddenly self-aware of every inch of my body.

"No, Mila. Again. Say it like you mean it. Say it like you know you drive me insane every single second of every day."

Tears sting in my eyes from the intensity of this situation. Never in my life have I felt this way—cornered and questioned, but also challenged, like he's desperately trying to make me understand.

And I put myself in his situation, try to see the way he must feel, judging by the way he behaves toward me. The way he speaks to me, undresses me with his words and eyes, the way he constantly shoots me heated glances... It suddenly doesn't seem that unbelievable anymore that I might just be as beautiful as he thinks I am.

"I'm beautiful." I whisper the words, and I mean them too, although I'm so insanely scared at the same time. But the way he looks at me eradicates every trace of fear, of insecurity, of shyness. Because he's looking at me like I'm the sun. Like there's nothing else existing around us—no rooftop, no stunning skyline. Just him and me.

"Yes, you are."

The smile on his lips makes my heart race, and I already know I won't keep it together for much longer, the tension between us charged enough to explode any second now. He seems to know too, because he sits up with me, and when his lips brush against my own, I feel so, so beautiful. It's an understanding of my own body, one I want to cherish for the rest of my life.

We spend the rest of the day like this. Exploring the other, dangerously close to crossing a line we should definitely not cross yet. But his touch is intoxicating, addicting, and I'm hooked, craving more.

Luckily Hayden seems to have some control of this situation, because when the sun sets behind us, our tangled legs catching the last rays of sunshine as we lay there, intertwined and messy, he places a kiss on the top of my head and breaks the silence. "We should get something to eat, Lucky."

"Hmm," I agree, my eyes closed as I enjoy the feeling of his fingers raking through my hair.

"I thought we could cook something in my apartment or have a barbecue up here...but we can also just order in, if you prefer."

"Ordering in sounds great," I mumble again, my mind and senses completely clouded by this sensational day.

He chuckles and pulls out his phone so we can skim over the different restaurants. We soon give up, though, and go for the safe option—pizza. Hayden orders for both of us, and as soon as he disconnects his phone, our gazes lock again, igniting that fire within me with the sheer heat in his eyes. It seems like hours that we simply gaze at each other, not saying a word as we co-exist, enjoying the other's presence.

The moment is interrupted by the delivery service calling his phone, and we then spend dinner in comfortable silence, combined with light conversation and flirty looks. As soon as Hayden places his empty pizza carton on the table, his eyes immediately finding my own, the atmosphere ignites again, just like that. Because it's all that it takes with him, the simple connection of our bodies with a brush of his fingers over my cheek; with one longing glance, we're lit up like fireworks. And so we lose ourselves, again and again and again...

"Come to Vegas with me," he suddenly whispers into our kiss.

"Wh...what?" I ask, catching my breath.

"Shit. I mean... Fuck, Mila." His breath travels down my neck when he rests his forehead against mine, and I tip up his chin to look at him properly, those storming eyes so insecure that I almost can't stop the waterworks again.

"Did you just say I should come with you?"

"I did...and I'm sorry if I overstepped a line, but it's just..." He sighs. "The thought of being away from you for so long— Fuck, it's killing me."

I have to swallow from his words. I feel exactly the same, I do. But I know I probably shouldn't, and it makes all of this even harder. What do I do?