7: Holly And Flint

Eva's throat bobbed with a thick gulp as the man's low, rough question lingered in the air.

Why was she hesitating? Why was it so hard to tell this man her name?

She faced him now and she couldn't tear her gaze away from this man. From the way his dark, drenched hair clung to his forehead, to the slow, hungry way his eyes drank her in.

"How about you tell me your name, since you're the one intervening on my night," she said, voice a little breathy.

He let out a chuckle that rumbled from deep in his chest, but it soon twisted into a cough.

Concern flickered through her. Without thinking, Eva rushed to dig through her bag of knickknacks she got from the vending machine, fingers clumsy as she searched for something useful. Nothing seemed healthy but at least she grabbed a few bottles of water. She snatched one up.

"Here," she murmured, unscrewing the cap and pressing it to his lips. Lips that were so full, so sinful, she nearly lost herself to the wild temptation to lean in and lick them. He drank slowly, his gaze never leaving hers as his throat worked in a way that made her stomach flutter.

"Thank you," he rasped, voice rougher now and darker.

"Feeling better?" she asked, her heart thudding.

"No," he said, voice low and deliberate.

"Maybe it's because you need to get out of those wet clothes... and I should probably report this," she added, though the words sounded half-hearted even to her own ears. A tiny part of her, a reckless part, wanted to keep him just like this. Raw, exposed, and dangerously close. But she knew she couldn’t.

She tried to reason with herself. Eva thought about his dilemma and hoped that if she was in a similar situation, someone would assist her. She didn't mind being helpful, but she didn't know anything about him and more importantly, she didn't trust him. She was adamant about contacting the police since she didn't know what kind of shady business he was dealing in.

Why were those men after him?

"What the hell are you doing?" she gasped, snapping out of her thoughts as he moved.

"Getting naked. You did suggest I remove these wet clothes," he teased, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

"But I didn't mean right in front of me!" she cried, backing up a step as he rose to his full, imposing height.

"You are feeling better," she accused, voice shaking slightly with something that wasn't fear, but she couldn't put a finger on what it was.

"I've been feeling better for a few minutes now," he said, peeling his soaked shirt from his sculpted body. His muscles flexed with every motion as he casually tossed it over the chair. His chest was bare now, every line of him carved and perfect. He prowled toward her slowly, "but I like how you take care of me. You're my hero, beautiful."

"Stop calling me beautiful," she snapped, but her voice lacked conviction as he stepped closer, heat radiating off him in waves.

He brushed a wet strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against her skin, sending shivers skimming down her spine.

"But you are beautiful," he said. His voice was rough and intimate, meant for her ears alone. His eyes locked onto hers with feral intensity. "If you feel uncomfortable, you could just tell me your name."

"Alright, alright," she gasped, desperate for space, for air. "I'm Holly,” she sidestepped him. “Holly Daye."

She fought the urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of the fake name.

‘There’s no way this man will know it’s fake,’ she giggled internally.

‘This woman must think I'm a fool,’ he grunted internally.

"You're kidding, right?" he said, laughing, the sound deep and dangerously charming.

"Are you laughing at my name?" she demanded, folding her arms.

"It's just... unusual," he said, easily seeing through the lie, but deciding to let it slide.

“It’s a name that goes way back on my mother’s aunty’s sister’s side,” she explained. “

‘Alright Miss Holly Daye. Since that's the game we're playing, then it's time I make my move,’ he smirked.

"Well, Miss Holly Daye, I’m Flint," he said with a lazy, teasing grin, "Flint Stone. Pleasure meeting you." He held out his hand.

‘What? There's no way that’s his real name,’ she rolled her eyes.

“Same here,” she took his hand, trying to ignore how her palm tingled when his strong fingers closed around hers.

"So, Miss Daye," he said, voice a shade lower, "what's got you so dolled up?"

"I had an event," she muttered, stepping back. "But it... didn't end well."

Pain flickered through her eyes, and he caught it immediately. He didn't want to pry, he wasn't that type of man, but he had to ask. “Did something bad happen? Did someone try to hurt you?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

"Well, if it's any consolation," Flint said, voice thick with sincerity, "you look stunning."

"Thank you," Eva said softly, feeling her heart twist. "And you," she added, trying to regain some control, "are definitely dressed for more than a bar."

"It's true," he said as he wandered to the window, his towel shifting dangerously low on his hips. "Listen... looks like we're stuck here for a while. Might as well get comfortable. You suggested I get out of my wet clothes, what about you?"

"I'll be fine," Eva said quickly — too quickly.

As if on cue, she sneezed.

"Bless you," he murmured, a knowing smile curling his lips.

“Fine. I'll change into one of those cheap robes they got here.” Grumbling, Eva retreated to the bathroom. "And don't try anything funny," she called out before slamming the door shut.

Ten minutes later, she emerged in a fluffy white robe, cinched tightly at her waist. The soft fabric clung to her body, and Flint's gaze darkened appreciatively.

"You look cozy," he said, he gulped.

"It feels good to be dry," she sighed, hugging herself only to gasp when she saw him. “What the hell are you wearing?" she asked, eyes wide.

Flint stood there in nothing but a towel slung low across his hips, his broad chest and chiseled abs shamelessly exposed, tattoos littered over his golden skin like secrets she longed to explore.

"Hey," he said with a wicked grin, "it was this or nothing."

“I think this drawer is defective.” He turned slightly, muscles flexing, the towel barely clinging to him. “I was looking for a blow dryer," he added as he sauntered toward her. Each step made the air thicken with tension. His body, his heat, the sheer maleness of him overwhelmed her senses.

Eva couldn't tear her eyes away from the hard lines of his chest and the curve of his shoulders, plus the way he moved like a predator stalking its prey, made her mouth watery.

"You smell amazing," she breathed before she could stop herself, mortified when the words slipped out.

"And you smell delicious," he said, his eyes glinting wickedly. "Don't worry... I won't bite," he teased — but there was a dangerous promise in his voice that made her body ache.

Her lips parted, her heart pounding as she tilted her chin up, just inches from brushing her mouth against his when suddenly, the room plunged into darkness.

"Oh my god," Eva gasped, stumbling blindly.

"Don't worry," Flint said, his voice a rough caress. "I saw some candles earlier." He scurried to grab the lighter from the night table and lit the candles.

In the glow of soft candlelight, Flint's body was bathed in gold, shadows accentuating every hard plane and curve. The atmosphere wrapped around them, thick with heat and unspoken need.

"It's gonna be freezing without electricity," Eva murmured, shivering slightly as the thunderstorm wreaked havoc outside.

"Then come here," he said, voice dark and molten. "I'll keep you warm."

He opened his arms as an invitation and Eva was drunk on temptation and she didn't know if she was strong enough to refuse.