Page 17

The moment the door clicks shut, the sound of the shower kicks on. Soft at first, then louder, probably working overtime to pump out anything hot.

I flop back on the bed, eyes on the water-stained ceiling, but my brain… My brain is a traitor.

Because now all I can think about is him in that shower.

The same hands that gripped the steering wheel yesterday are now slick with soap. That quiet, broody mouth parted just enough as he tips his head back into the spray. Water dripping down the hard lines of his chest, over the ridges of muscle he keeps pretending he doesn’t have. And lower.

God help me.

I try to shut it down, but nope. The image of him, gloriously naked and wet, is fully burned into my brain now.

I groan and roll to my side, burying my face in the pillow.

By the time the water shuts off, I’m practically vibrating with pent-up energy and absolutely zero chill.

When the door opens and he steps out, towel slung low around his hips and hair damp, I make the mistake of looking. And then immediately wish I hadn’t.

Because holy. Actual. Hell.

The man is carved. He’s earned that body. He has broad shoulders that taper down to a narrow waist, muscle defined. His skin is still flushed from the shower, water clinging in places it absolutely does not need to be clinging. Like his stupidly impressive abs.

I beg my own eyes to look away but find myself cataloging things instead. Forearms corded and strong. A faint scar near his ribs that suggests a story he probably wouldn’t volunteer. The towel sitting on his hips has been carefully placed by the universe just to test me.

“Bathroom’s free,” he says all nonchalant, as if he didn’t just walk out here looking like every woman’s favorite fantasy come to life.

I don’t trust myself to speak. So I make a sound—somewhere between a squeak and a cough—and grab my bag, bolting past him before I do something really dumb.

Like tell him the only thing I want more than coffee right now is a shower…with him in it.

Shutting the bathroom door behind me, I lean against it, exhaling a shaky breath. The mirror shows me exactly what I expected. Wild red hair tangled from sleep, makeup slightly smudged, and cheeks flushed.

I strip quickly and step into the shower, grimacing when the lukewarm water hits my skin. I scrub fast, trying to focus on anything other than the fact that Beau stood here naked less than five minutes ago. Water sliding down his chest, steam curling around his shoulders, that stoic expression breaking just enough to sigh into the heat⁠—

Nope. Absolutely not.

I slam the brakes on that mental detour before I end up needing a second, colder shower for entirely different reasons.

Once I’m clean and dressed in my favorite soft green T-shirt and jeans, I feel marginally better. I apply minimal makeup, just enough to look put together. Not because of him, obviously.

I step out of the bathroom and freeze.

Beau is sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, scrolling through his phone. His black shirt fits like it was tailored to his body, clinging to the muscle of his biceps, the slope of his chest, and hugging every line of his torso.

His hair is still damp, curling slightly at the ends, and I want to bury my fingers in it.

He glances up when he hears the door. His eyes flick over me, just once, and his expression doesn’t change. “Ready?” he asks, voice low and rough. Like gravel and honey and very bad decisions.

I force my mouth into a smile that doesn’t betray how hot my face feels. “Born ready.”

He stands, pocketing his phone, and strolls over the door without another word.

We walk back to the front desk to drop off the room key. The clerk behind the counter looks up, barely acknowledging us as I slide it across the counter. We step back outside into the bright morning, the air fresh and clean after the storm.

“Please tell me there’s a decent coffee place within a ten-mile radius,” I say, climbing into the passenger seat of his truck. “I need caffeine like I need oxygen right now.”

Beau slides in beside me. “There’s a breakfast spot at the next exit. Reviews look okay.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You checked reviews? For me? I’m touched, Sinclair.”