Page 80 of Diego

Right.

“Then wrap yourself in something.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m having a crisis.”

“And my being naked interferes with that?”

“Yes.”

“I’m flattered.”

I close my eyes. “Diego.”

“Do you think it would improve things if I started panicking too?”

“It would at least make me feel less insane.”

I leave the bedroom before his complete lack of concern makes me seriously consider murdering him. The blanket trails around my ankles as I cross the hallway and enter the living room, where the evidence begins almost immediately.

Diego’s jacket is on the floor near the wall.

I remember my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, his mouth on mine while I fought the jacket off him. The memory is so vivid that my skin warms despite the panic still churning in my stomach.

I step over the jacket and keep moving.

Diego follows.

Still naked.

“You cannot be serious.”

He spreads his hands slightly as he walks toward me. “You’ve already seen me.”

“That is irrelevant.”

“I would argue that it is extremely relevant.”

I groan. “Put your jacket on.”

He looks toward the jacket on the floor.

Then at me.

“I would look a bit ridiculous with just the jacket on, don't you think?”

No, I don't. I don't think he would look silly in anything.

But I would saw my own tongue off before I told him that.

In response, I just turn away from him. But the kitchen is ahead of me, bright in the morning sunlight and looking… innocent.

It is not innocent.

I know what happened on that island.

My face burns before I even reach it.