Because this?
This is dangerous.
Not the way he touches me.
Not the way he makes me feel.
But the way I might start to believe him.
Because if I let myself lean into that, even a little—I might not be able to stop.
Not the physical part.
That? That I can handle.
It’s the rest.
The way I feel.
The way my chest tightens when I think about how he looked at me.
Nope. Not going there.
Not tonight.
I straighten, lifting my chin a little, trying to shake off the swirl in my head—and that’s when I hear it.
A knock.
Soft.
Followed by the door opening before I can answer.
I freeze.
I see him in the mirror first.
Standing there in the doorway.
Big.
Solid.
And, oh Gods—gulp—naked.
Completely at ease in his own skin.
His gaze lands on me—and doesn’t move.
It drags.
Slow.
Intent.
Taking me in like he’s memorizing me all over again.
And the way his eyes go heavy?
