Chapter 11: Doll

Elina’s POV

If someone had told me this morning that, before the day was over, I’d be straddling an NBA legend’s shoulders while he fed me ice cream, I would have laughed in their face.

But here I was.

And Ryan Castro?

Ryan freaking Castro was burning me alive.

The private training arena smelled like smoke, sweat, and something dangerously male—the kind of scent that burrowed under your skin and made a home there, leaving you dizzy with how right it felt. Like it had always belonged. Like you’d been missing it without even knowing.

I didn’t know if I was imagining things or if I was under some kind of spell, but one thing was certain: the air was thick—too thick. It wrapped around me, heavy with heat and something primal, something electric, like the charged silence before a thunderstorm. It made me want to inhale and never exhale, to drown in it, let it consume me—while every survival instinct I had screamed at me to run.

Except I couldn’t move.