Claire gasped, scandalized. “You did not just say that.”
“Oh, I did. And I’m saying it with love. And self-defense.”
She squealed and bolted out of bed, disappearing into the bathroom, toothpaste already foaming at her lips. “You’re so lucky I don’t strangle you with this toothbrush.”
“You’re lucky I survived the night,” he called out, laughing.
Her voice was muffled through the door. “Okay, okay. Let it go now.”
“I mean… if you insist.”
They were still laughing as she shut off the faucet and leaned against the vanity, watching herself in the mirror with a strange kind of ache beneath her smile. What even is this?
“I can’t believe we passed out that fast,” she said, stepping back into the bedroom.
Jaxon yawned. “Last thing I remember was laying down after the shower. And then… nothing.”
“Well, I’m about to take another one.”
He looked up, eyes dark with interest. “Is that an invitation?”
“Maybe,” she teased, walking away with that tilt in her hips she knew would follow him straight into hell.
He joined her in the bathroom, brushing his teeth as she stepped under the stream. Steam clouded the mirror, fogging everything except the memory of her skin.
He couldn’t help it—his gaze shifted toward the reflection. Through the glass, he could see her, barely obscured by steam. Skin glowing. Water dripping down her collarbone, her spine, the slope of her hips. She leaned her head back, soaking her hair beneath the spray.
Every breath he took felt like it weighed too much.
Then she turned slightly, voice light. “You coming in or what? I’m almost done.”
He hesitated.
“I better not.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I get in there with you, we’re not making that flight.”
There was silence. A smile.
She didn’t press.
Minutes later, the water shut off. Claire stepped out—dripping, flushed, glowing—and instead of drying off, she walked straight to him. She didn’t say a word. Just wrapped her towel behind his back, pulled him into her soaking-wet body, and kissed him like a secret.
Then walked away, naked, smiling over her shoulder like she’d just won something he didn’t even know he was playing for.
Jaxon stood there, stunned. Breathless.
“Well, damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Guess I’ll take a cold shower.”
By 9:00, they were dressed, packed, and doing one last sweep of the suite. Claire lingered—checking drawers she knew were empty, folding the throw blanket at the edge of the bed like it mattered.
Jaxon stood at the door, holding the luggage. “You ready?”
Claire nodded, but didn’t move. She took one last look around. One last silent goodbye to the city that held the memory of everything that just became real.
The elevator doors slid closed, and she watched the floor numbers tick down—18, 17, 16... Every one of them felt like time running out. Not just on Denver. On this.
