I wasn’t spiraling anymore. I was smiling.
When Eric decided time was up, he didn’t ask. He finished his drink, thanked his cousin, and guided me toward the elevators.
Zane called after us that he expected a full report later.
Eric didn’t dignify it with a response. He just pressed the elevator button and looked down at me, satisfied. “Better?”
And annoyingly, wonderfully, I was. A little tipsy, completely worn out…but better.
The warmth didn’t last long. By the time we stepped into my room, the weight of the day settled back into my bones, and my feet dragged across the carpet.
“Why don’t we take a hot shower and then get some sleep?” His hands settled on my shoulders.
His thumbs dug in, kneading out tension I hadn’t even realized I was holding.
“I don’t know if I can stand that long. I know this was my idea, but I’m exhausted.”
“I’ll hold you up.” There was no teasing in it. No room for debate, either.
He took my hand and guided me toward the bathroom before I could argue, already turning on the water, already in motion. He moved with the assuredness of someone used to taking care of things. Of taking care of people.
He stripped off his shirt, then the rest, efficient and not at all self-conscious.
Even through the haze of exhaustion, the sight of him lit me up. Broad shoulders. Strong back. Muscle shifting under skin with power and purpose. Dark ink covered his entire left shoulder—bold lines and curves that wrapped around the muscle, telling a story I couldn't read from this angle.
With his back to me, he adjusted the water temperature while I let my gaze wander lower, appreciating the view without apology.
He turned and caught me staring. A slow smirk curved his mouth. “You need help over there?”
Before I could answer, he crossed the space between us in a single stride.
I closed my eyes, expecting the brush of his hands.
Instead, I felt fabric loosen and fall. Piece by piece, he undressed me without grazing my skin, without giving me what I expected. The restraint made my pulse jump harder than if he’d touched me.
When the last layer slipped away, I stood there bare, eyes still closed, suddenly aware of everything. My stomach. My hips. The stretch marks, and the C-section scar I rarely thought about until moments like this.
“Jamie.” His voice wasn’t playful or hungry. It was sure. “Don’t hide those pretty blues from me. Open your eyes.”
I did.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze from beneath my lashes.
Eric wasn’t looking over my body the way I’d feared. He wasn’t cataloging flaws or tracing my scar with his eyes. He was looking at my face.
No, it went deeper than that. His gaze held mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch.
“You’re gorgeous. You know that, right?”
His fingers tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, then slid down along my jaw, steady and warm. He tipped my chin up, aligning our mouths.
“And I’m not just talking about your body. Though that part of you is pretty damn incredible too.”
“Eric,” I breathed, half protest, half plea.
“Shh.” His thumb brushed my lower lip before he kissed me. “Let’s not waste all the hot water.”
I’d assumed the shower suggestion came with certain expectations. But I was wrong.
