He freezes mid-motion.
I feel the blush crawl up my neck, hot and unstoppable.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak. Just watches me watch him, sweat still trickling down the center of his chest, dark hair damp at the temples, blue eyes darkening as the seconds stretch.
I swallow and force out. “Morning.”
“Morning.” His voice is low and rough. He grabs a towel from the railing, wipes his face, then his neck, slow, deliberate. The movement makes every muscle in his torso shift. I can’t stop staring.
“You’re up early,” I manage.
“Habit.” He tosses the towel over his shoulder. “You sleep okay?”
I nod. “Your bed’s comfortable.”
His gaze flicks to the bedroom door, then back to me. Something dark and hungry flashes in his eyes before he locks it down. “Good.”
Silence stretches again. Thick. Electric.
I shift my weight, suddenly aware of how close he is, how little he’s wearing, how much skin is on display. My mouth is dry. “You always work out at dawn?”
“When I can’t sleep.” He steps closer slowly. “And last night… I couldn’t sleep.”
The admission hangs between us.
I lift my chin. “Because of me?”
“Because of you,” he says, voice dropping lower. “You’re loud even when you’re quiet.”
I laugh—soft, surprised. “I snore?”
“You breathe.” He’s close enough now that I can smell sweat, clean male skin, that faint leather-and-gun-oil scent that’s starting to feel like home. “Every breath. Every shift. Every time you sighed in your sleep. I heard it all from the couch.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His eyes drop to my mouth for half a second, then lift again.
The air between us heats as I step forward. I tilt my head. “You’re the one who put me in your bed alone.”
His jaw flexes. “You were exhausted. Couch wasn’t an option.”
“Chivalrous.”
“Practical.”
I smile slowly, teasing. “Is that what you’re calling it?”
He exhales through his nose, almost a laugh. “You’re trouble.”
“You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing.”
He looks at me long and searching. “It’s the worst thing.” But he doesn’t move away, nor do I.
The tension is unbearable. Delicious. I can feel it in every inch of skin, in the way my nipples tighten under my sweater, in the low ache building between my legs.
He breaks first. Stepping back. He grabs his shirt from the railing and pulls it on. The movement is quick, almost angry. “You need to eat. Then we train.”
“Train?”
