LEILA
.
.
He walked closer then, a slow, deliberate pace that felt both lazy and utterly predatory.
Misa instinctively went a little back, melting into the wall behind us, leaving me standing in the middle, feeling completely off, unbalanced, exposed.
His scent reached me before he did, that familiar, expensive cologne already lingering in my senses, making my skin prickle and reminding me instantly of the kiss, of how his hand had circled around me, pulling me tight against him, and my hand going to his neck, clinging on.
"You're sweating," he observed, his eyes scanning my face, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, more like an arched smirk.
I could feel the heat on my skin, a flush rising from my chest, the instant, physical reaction from his mere presence, amplified by
