The officer’s radio crackled. Static, then a voice in rapid French I couldn’t quite catch.
He responded, brief and clipped, then turned back to me.
“I leave you to your shower, mademoiselle. Désolé… Sorry for disturbance.” Headed for the exit. “You remember, you see anything, you call. Do not take risk.”
“I won’t. Promise.”
It clicked shut.
Counted to ten. Then fifteen. Then twenty.
No sound from the other side. No voices calling backup. Just silence settling over the building like fresh snow.
My legs almost gave out.
Swayed, towel clutched to my chest, shaking so hard my teeth clattered together. The adrenaline that had kept me steady drained away, leaving nothing but ice and terror and the delayed crash of holy shit, that happened.
He bought it. He actually bought the performance.
The shower still hammered away. Expensive as hell to waste water, but worth it. Worth every penny.
Breath came in sharp bursts. I was freezing. Water from my hair trickled down my spine, turned to ice on my skin. Goosebumps covered every inch of me. The towel offered zero warmth.
Move, Clare. Now!
Shoved off and crossed to the bathroom on unsteady legs.
He sat exactly where I’d left him. Perched on the closed toilet, utterly still, palms braced on his knees, in his underwear, tracking my approach.
Heat flooded my face despite the cold turning my skin to ice. He’d seen everything. Watched me strip down to nothing, perform for the cop, stand there dripping and shivering in a towel barely covering anything.
“He’s gone.” Rough. “We’re okay.”
Xavier’s shoulders dropped an inch. The dangerous tension eased fractionally.
Then his gaze swept down my body, and back up. Something flickered there. Concern, maybe. Or awareness I wasn’t ready to examine.
Shaking. Violently. Couldn’t stop.
He rose, using the towel rack, despite the pain that tightened his jaw, crossed the two steps between us. Settled on my arm and guided me toward the shower still running behind the curtain.
“I’m fine.” Teeth chattering betrayed the lie. “Just need a minute.”
He didn’t respond. Couldn’t. But the pressure stayed firm on my elbow, maneuvering me toward the tub with surprising gentleness.
The curtain hung open. Steam billowed out, warm and inviting.
Xavier’s touch slipped away. He reached for the curtain, pulled it closed halfway, giving me privacy, creating a barrier between us.
Stared at the gap he’d left. He could look. I wouldn’t stop him. Didn’t have the energy to care after everything.
But he gave me dignity anyway. Stepped back. Turned away.
Chest tightened.
This dangerous man protecting my modesty when I’d just stripped in front of him without hesitation. When he’d watched every second. That was surprising.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
