Flushed Red
1351 Words
Amara’s mother looked from Amara to Leo and then back again.
“What’s this weird energy?” her mother mumbled.
Amara almost swallowed the steak without chewing. Of course, it caused her to choke, and she had that overrated fit of coughing—but what really bothered her was the casual way Leo’s face flickered toward her and then back to his plate, like nothing was wrong.
“Your father and I will be going on a business trip again. Two weeks or more this time,” her mother said.
Amara sighed. “What do you have to research this time? Antelopes?” she mumbled.
“Very funny, Amara. Please don’t cause a scene while we are gone.”
“Like I have…” she muttered, shoving a mouthful of spaghetti into her mouth.
She didn’t even like today’s dinner, so why couldn’t her mother have waited another minute before calling them to the table?
And then what? Would you have kissed Leo?
Leo?!!
Of all people.
She swallowed her food hard, cheeks heating, and lifted her eyes—only to catch Leo staring at her, an amused expression tugging at his lips. She was certain her cheeks had turned scarlet.
“We have to pack. You two do the dishes,” her mother said, pushing back her chair and standing. Her father followed, grumbling something about a hangover. Nobody asked him to drink, by the way.
Amara stared at her plate. Her appetite had vanished right along with her parents. With a sigh, she stood up, grabbed her dishes, and went over to collect her mother’s.
Which meant passing by Leo.
Yes, that came with its perks.
She passed him, leaned down to get her mother’s plate, and that’s when his hand closed around her wrist.
Her eyes widened.
“What are you—”
“Shh. You must do the dishes on your own.” He stood, towering above her.
She blinked. “Why?”
“I need to sleep early. How do you think I maintain this beauty?” he said, smirking as he dropped her hand and walked away.
How the hell did he look so unaffected by what happened earlier? Didn’t he have nerves? Her entire body was still on fire from the way his fingers had brushed her skin.
But this unhealthy attraction—this thing—shouldn’t be happening.
She needed a distraction. Any distraction.
She carried the plates into the kitchen and turned on the sink, muttering under her breath as she scrubbed them clean. Yes, there was a dishwasher. No, she wouldn’t use it. She needed the distraction.
She rinsed another plate and set it on the rack when the hairs on the back of her neck rose. That feeling again—like eyes boring into her skin.
Amara turned her head slightly.
Leo.
He was leaning against the kitchen doorway, arms folded across his chest, that same lazy grin pulling at his lips like he owned the entire house and her nerves along with it.
Her fingers tightened around the sponge. “Didn’t you say you were going to sleep?”
He tilted his head, studying her. “I couldn’t. The water was too loud.”
She scoffed. “That’s your excuse?”
“Better than admitting I wanted to see you.”
The sponge slipped from her hand and plopped back into the soapy water, splashing foam onto the counter. She cursed under her breath, grabbing a rag. “Do you ever listen to yourself?”
“All the time,” he said smoothly, stepping into the kitchen.
The air shifted with him, heavier, warmer. Her hands moved quicker, scrubbing plates like her life depended on getting every speck of spaghetti off. If she focused on dishes, she wouldn’t think about the fact that he was behind her now.
Too close.
Her pulse thumped against her throat. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re lying.”
She froze, plate halfway under the faucet. “About what?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand reached past her, slow, deliberate, like he was testing how far he could push. He picked up the fork she had set down and brushed against her arm in the process. The touch was brief, barely there, but her skin flared hot, betraying her.
“You act like you hate me,” he murmured, rinsing the fork as if that was his only reason for being near her. “But you wouldn’t burn this much energy on someone you didn’t think about.”
Amara spun, glaring at him. “I don’t think about you!”
“Then why are you flushed?”
She gasped, reaching up to touch her cheek. Damn it. She was flushed.
Leo smirked. He knew he had her cornered.
“Get out of my kitchen,” she hissed, shoving the plate into the rack with more force than necessary.
He leaned against the counter instead, settling in. “Make me.”
God, she hated him. She hated how calm he was, how he treated every charged moment like a game, while she felt like she was unraveling piece by piece.
She grabbed another plate, scrubbing furiously. “You think you’re so untouchable, don’t you?”
“I don’t think it. I know it.” His eyes swept over her slowly, deliberately, until she wanted to throw the damn plate at his head.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re blushing again.”
Her jaw clenched. She slammed the last plate into the rack and turned the sink off, water dripping from her fingers. “I’m done. Now move.”
Instead of moving, he reached for a towel, catching her wrist in the process. He dried her hands gently, almost too gently, like he wasn’t the same person who had slammed her against a door hours earlier.
She stared at him, heart hammering. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t look up. “Drying your hands.”
“I can do it myself.”
“Yeah,” he said softly, finally lifting his gaze. “But I like doing it.”
Her throat tightened. She yanked her hand away, stepping back. “You’re messed up.”
He smirked again, that dangerous curve of his lips that made her want to scream. “You keep saying that. Yet here you are, still standing with me.”
She wanted to walk out. She wanted to storm past him, slam the door to her room, and lock it tight. But her feet wouldn’t move.
Instead, she whispered, “Why are you doing this?”
His expression changed then—just a flicker, but enough. The grin slipped, and for one raw second, he looked serious. “Because you make me lose control. And I like it.”
Her chest squeezed so tight it almost hurt.
“You’re insane,” she breathed.
“Maybe.” His voice dropped, low and rough. “But you’re the reason I can’t sleep.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy, suffocating, charged. The hum of the fridge, the drip of the faucet—everything else faded until it was just her and him, the air sparking.
Her body betrayed her again. She didn’t move when he stepped closer, didn’t flinch when his hand brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
“You’re not supposed to…” Her voice faltered, breaking under his stare.
“Supposed to what?” he whispered, eyes locked on hers.
Her lips parted. She didn’t have an answer.
Leo’s gaze dipped to her mouth, then back to her eyes. Controlled. Measured. Dangerous. “Tell me to stop,” he said, but it wasn’t a request. It was a dare.
Her pulse roared in her ears. The words wouldn’t come.
And he knew it.
The corner of his mouth curved, slow and deliberate. “Didn’t think so.”
He didn’t kiss her, not yet. Instead, he pulled back just enough to let the tension burn her alive. Then he walked away, leaving her gripping the counter, breathless, her entire body trembling with something she couldn’t name.
- Writer
