Chapter 207

Chapter 207
Clara: POV

I came out of the bathroom, my hair still damp, and immediately began organizing Andrei's suitcase.

After years as his PR manager and now his contract wife, I knew exactly how he liked his clothes packed—dress shirts folded precisely to avoid wrinkles, accessories in the side compartments, shoes wrapped in cloth bags.

The bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam as Andrei emerged with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

My hands froze mid-fold as water droplets cascaded down his muscular chest, tracing paths over his defined abs. My throat went instantly dry.

I couldn't help following those water trails with my eyes, suddenly remembering how those muscles felt under my fingers last night.

Without thinking, I licked my lips, my breathing becoming shallow.

Andrei caught me staring and his mouth curved into that infuriatingly sexy smirk I knew too well.

"Like what you see?" he asked, his voice low and teasing. "You know, you don't have to stand so far away. You can come closer... and touch."

Heat rushed to my face. I quickly turned my attention back to the suitcase, fumbling with the zipper in my embarrassment.

God, what was wrong with me? One night together and I was acting like a lovestruck teenager.

Suddenly he was behind me, his hand covering mine on the zipper, helping me close it.

His cool, damp chest brushed against my back through my thin top.

I shivered involuntarily, heart racing.

The air between us felt charged with unspoken questions. What did last night mean to him? Had I just become another conquest?

The contract specifically prohibited romantic entanglement, yet here we were, the morning after breaking that very clause.

The doorbell's ring was my salvation.

"That must be breakfast," I said, practically bolting toward the door, grateful for the interruption.

The hotel staff wheeled in our breakfast, setting it up on the table while I busied myself with straightening already-straight napkins.

By the time they left, Andrei had disappeared back into the bedroom.

He emerged minutes later wearing a black T-shirt and faded jeans.

Even in such casual clothes, he looked impossibly handsome.

The simple outfit highlighted his tall frame and broad shoulders in a way his usual designer suits couldn't.

I stole a quick glance, hoping he wouldn't notice my racing pulse.

We ate breakfast in relative silence, discussing only the logistics of the day ahead—checkout times, flight schedules, his filming commitment in Guadalajara.

Nothing about what had happened between us. Nothing about how he had discovered I was a virgin and had been so surprisingly gentle. Nothing about how I'd cried out his name over and over as he'd—

"Are you finished?" His question startled me from my thoughts.

"Yes. Yes, I'm done," I said, pushing my half-eaten meal away.

After breakfast, we checked out with practiced efficiency.

Sammy, Andrei's assistant, handled the payment while we walked directly to the waiting car.

The drive to the airport was quiet, Mexico City's busy streets passing in a blur as I stared out the window, hyperaware of Andrei's presence beside me.

His private jet waited on the tarmac, gleaming in the morning sunlight.

As we boarded, I instinctively headed toward the farthest corner seat—my usual spot during our travels together.

I'd always given Andrei space during flights, understanding his need for privacy while working in the spacious middle section of the cabin.

I pulled out my book, settling into the familiar routine that had defined our professional relationship. This was safer.

Whatever happened last night was an anomaly, a moment of weakness we both needed to forget.

But then something unexpected happened.

Instead of taking his usual seat, Andrei walked directly to where I was sitting and dropped into the empty seat beside me.

I closed my book with a startled snap, confusion washing over me as I tried to make sense of this deviation from our normal pattern.

"Is something wrong?" I asked cautiously, studying his face for clues.

"Nothing's wrong," he replied, his voice controlled. "Why do you ask?"

I hesitated, gesturing vaguely toward the cabin. "You're not sitting in your usual seat, and we're about to take off for Guadalajara."

Andrei turned to face me, a challenging smile playing on his lips. "Am I not allowed to sit wherever I want?"

Before I could respond, he leaned across me to fasten my seatbelt, his fingers brushing against my waist.

My breath caught in my throat at the proximity, at the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the clean smell of hotel soap.

I didn't answer his question.

Instead, I felt my cheeks flush hot again as I quickly looked away, reopening my book and pretending to read.

But the words blurred before my eyes, my concentration completely shattered by his presence beside me.

This wasn't the Andrei Wilson I knew—the arrogant, aloof film producer who valued his privacy above all else.

This man who deliberately chose to sit beside me, who seemed to enjoy my discomfort, felt like a stranger.

As the engines roared to life, I stared blindly at my book, wondering what game he was playing. One night together had shifted the ground beneath my feet, and I had no idea how to find my balance again.