She knew exactly what she was going to do.
A slow, wicked smirk curled at her lips as she finished her shower, dried off, and slipped into absolutely nothing but a towel, securing it loosely around her chest.
Time to play.
Savannah descended the stairs like she had all the time in the world—calm, composed, completely unbothered. Every step was deliberate, a slow, teasing display of confidence as she wrapped herself tighter in the towel, making sure it barely skimmed mid-thigh.
Chase was just leaving the kitchen, arms crossed over that annoyingly perfect chest, his weight shifted lazily onto one foot like he had all the patience in the world. His eyes tracked her descent, that signature smirk of his curving at the edges, like he knew something she didn’t.
Like he thought he still had the upper hand.
Cocky bastard.
She stopped just inches away from him, the air crackling between them. The scent of her still-warm skin, fresh from the shower, mingled with the remnants of whatever damn cologne he wore—something rich, something masculine, something that made her want to lose her mind.
She tilted her head, playing it smooth. “Did you get everything done, Montgomery?”
His brows lifted slightly, his smirk deepening like he saw straight through her act. “Yeah, sweetheart. Everything’s cleaned up and put away.”
Savannah hummed, slow and sweet, letting her eyes drop deliberately, dragging her gaze down his torso. Her focus barely skimmed over the cut of his abs, the deep V disappearing beneath those loose gray sweatpants before she flicked her attention back up, meeting his gaze with a slow, satisfied smile.
“Good,” she said, voice syrupy smooth. “I’m so glad you were able to handle that.”
Chase’s smirk turned downright sinful. “Me too.”
Then—
Without warning, his hand snapped out, landing a sharp, solid smack against her ass.
Savannah gasped, her body jolting at the impact, a sharp sting blooming across her skin, heat surging so fast she forgot how to breathe for a second. Her fingers curled into her towel, her spine going rigid, but before she could even process the damn audacity—
He just kept walking.
Up the stairs.
Like nothing happened.
Like he hadn’t just set her entire body on fire with one ruthless, punishing slap.
He didn’t look back.
Didn’t check to see her reaction.
Didn’t wait for retaliation.
Just walked away, slow and easy, all broad shoulders and rolling muscle, like the cocky motherfucker he was, leaving her standing there—stunned, seething, and undeniably wrecked.
Savannah pressed her lips together, inhaling sharply as her pulse throbbed in places it shouldn’t. Her skin still tingled, burning from where his palm had landed, from where the heat of him still lingered.
Focus. Stick to the plan. He doesn’t get to win this one.
By the time Chase made it to the bathroom, he was already stripping off his shorts, completely unbothered, his movements slow, methodical. He tossed them into the hamper, stretching slightly, muscles flexing as he grabbed a towel from the closet, tossing it onto the counter.
The shower turned on with a low hiss, steam curling through the air, thickening with each passing second.
He laid his fresh clothes on the bed, not rushing, not thinking—because Savannah was downstairs.
He had a few minutes to himself.
