I slammed into something solid. Something warm. Something... damp.
My hands flew up to steady myself, palms landing flat against a wall of hard, sculpted muscle. My breath hitched, my lungs suddenly forgetting their primary function.
It wasn’t a wall. It was Thorne’s chest.
He was straight out of the shower. The hallway was a haze of soap scented steam. His skin was slick, radiating a heat that seared through my palms. Droplets of water clung to the dark mat hair trailing down his torso, slowly tracking downward, disappearing into the precarious knot of a white towel slung low—wickedly,dangerouslylow—on his hips.
I should have looked away. I should have apologized and bolted back to my room. Instead, I stayed rooted to the spot, my gaze following a rogue drop of water as it slid over the ridges of his abs.
“Sorry,” I breathed, though my hands didn’t move. I couldn’t make them. The feel of his damp skin against my skin was not something I wanted to stop experiencing. “I didn’t know you were—”
“It’s fine.” His voice was an octave deeper than usual, rough like gravel and velvet.
He didn’t move. He just stood there, towering over me in the narrow hallway, his scent—fresh soap and raw man—filling my lungs until I was lightheaded. I looked up, meeting his hooded gaze. His eyes weren’t grumpy anymore. They were dark with a hunger that made my knees weak.
He looked at me, then his eyes dropped to the flannel shirt I was wearing. His shirt. The way his pupils widened let me know he was imagining how I’d look underneath.
“Thorne,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
“Yeah?”
“You’re... wet.”
He nodded as if he wasn’t answering a stupid question from a woman whose hands were still pressed firmly against his chest. “I just got out of the shower, Maddie.”
“Right. Obviously.” And the next thing I knew, my thumb was betraying me, rubbing against this firm muscle dangerously close to his nipple. I felt his entire body tense under my touch, a low vibration echoing in his chest. “You’re very... well, wood chopping is clearly working for you.”
“Maddie,” he warned, his hands clenching at his sides. A drop of water ran down the side of his neck, along the ridge of the pulse jumping in his neck. I wanted to lean forward and trace it with my tongue.
“Yesterday,” I said, my heart drumming against my ribs. “In the truck.”
The air between us turned molten. I was looking at him, practically begging him to cross the line, to break the arrangement we had signed. I wanted him to grab me, press me against the hallway wall. I wanted to feel the weight of him against my curves. The strength of his hands as he touched me.
“I need to get dressed,” he said, though his eyes were anchored to my lips, telling a completely different story.
“Right. Dressed. That’s a good plan. Clothes are great.” I finally forced my hands to drop, but as I tried to squeeze past him in the cramped space, my hip brushed his. The contact was like a match to flame.
I stumbled. My arms flailed for balance, and my fingers clamped onto the first thing they found.
The towel.
Time didn’t just slow down. It stopped. It felt as if the forest itself was holding its breath.
I felt the terrycloth give way. I felt the weight of it drop from my hand as I regained my balance.
And then, there he was. All of him.
All. Of. Him.
My eyes went wide. My breath caught in a choked littleoh. For one heart-stopping second, I didn’t turn away. I couldn’t. He was magnificent, every inch of him rugged and powerful and... very,veryinterested in me.
Then, the world started again, fast and furious and I realized what was happening.
“Oh my God,” I shrieked, finally spinning around to face the wall, my face feeling like it was literally on fire. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—I was falling—I just—”
“It’s fine,” he said behind me. He sounded strained, his voice tight with the same kind of shock and what suspiciously sounded like a growl.
“It’s not fine. I just stripped you in your own hallway.” I covered my burning face with my hands, a hysterical giggle bubbling up in my throat despite the embarrassment, because that’s who I was. “Can I turn around, or are you still... exposed? Because honestly, Thorne, that’s a lot of mountain man for one woman to handle before coffee.”
