The bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam.
Lucas Turner emerged, a towel slung low around his hips, water droplets clinging to the silver hair on his chest.
My body responded instantly, a pulse of desire so sharp it bordered on pain.
"Good morning," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. "Sleep well?"
"Better than I have in days," I admitted, pulling the sheet higher as if modesty mattered after everything we'd done.
He noticed, one eyebrow arching slightly.
"Shy in the daylight, little fox?"
The nickname made something flutter in my chest—a dangerous sensation that had nothing to do with physical desire and everything to do with the connection forming between us.
A connection I couldn't afford, couldn't indulge, couldn't acknowledge.
"Not shy," I said, looking away from the temptation of his body. "Just... processing."
He moved to the closet—a walk-in the size of my entire bathroom—retrieving clothes with practiced efficiency. "Processing what, exactly?"
"This. Us." I gestured vaguely between us. "What happens next."
"What happens next," he echoed, dropping the towel without warning to pull on boxer briefs, "is coffee. Then breakfast. Then a conversation about how we proceed."
The casual confidence in his tone grated against my growing anxiety.
"That simple, is it?"
"No," he conceded, buttoning a crisp white shirt.
"But there's no point in catastrophizing before caffeine."
I watched him dress—a ritual of armor being assembled piece by piece.
The Lucas Turner who emerged was the one the world knew: powerful, controlled, intimidating.
Only I knew the man beneath those layers now.
Only I had seen him vulnerable, had felt his hands tremble with desire, had heard him groan my name as he lost himself inside me.
The realization was both heady and terrifying.
"Shower's yours if you want it," he said, adjusting his cufflinks. "I've laid out a robe. Unfortunately, I don't have anything else that would fit you."
"I should go home," I said, though I made no move to leave the bed.
"I have meetings. Obligations."
"Of course." His tone was neutral, but something flashed in his eyes—disappointment, perhaps. Or relief. I couldn't tell which possibility disturbed me more.
"I'll call for a car while you shower."
"Thank you." The formality between us felt absurd after the intimacy we'd shared, yet I clung to it like a lifeline.
A pretense of control when I felt anything but controlled.
He nodded once, then left the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. I exhaled, a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Without his presence, I could think more clearly. Could begin to untangle the knot of emotions threatening to choke me.
