Darya stared at the man in the doorway holding a dozen red roses, leaning casually as if he hadn’t walked past her the day before without looking in her direction. She threw the only thing within her grasp at him and it happened to be her phone. He caught it with his free hand and raised an eyebrow.
“You’re an asshole,” she glared at him as he looked at her phone, punching in her code and checking her latest call history. They’d shared passcodes one night and he was boldly showing off.
“You were talking to your sister for over thirty minutes? What did she want?”
“None of your f*****g business. You can leave.” She wanted to stop staring at him but his hair was damp as if he’d had a shower and the clean masculine scent of him was distracting. She simultaneously wanted to pull him into the
