Makes a fool of herself

Emily didn’t realize her mouth was slightly open until she tasted the dry heat on her tongue. The man's presence filled the room completely—silent, steady, dripping with power that was less about his size and more about the stillness with which he held himself.

His eyes didn’t move. They didn’t dart like most men’s did, stealing glances. No, he looked at her.

And she was staring back. Bare legs folded beneath her. Barely a towel between them.

Her voice came before her thoughts could catch up.

“I’m… wet.”

It slipped out.

He raised one brow.

Her cheeks burned instantly. She blinked, lips parting again, flustered. “I mean—I got sprayed. One of the pressure hoses broke loose when I was walking in and it just—hit me. So they brought me back here to dry off and—”

“Ah,” he said, his voice low, rich, unhurried. “That’s what that noise was.”

He took a step forward and reached for a folded towel from a shelf near the door. As he moved, the overhead light caught the shimmer of water across his abs, tracing the ridges with cruel clarity. His cock swung subtly as he moved, heavy, half-swollen.

“Lucas White,” he said, turning his head just enough to meet her gaze again. “I own the place. And I’m real sorry that happened to you.”

Emily didn’t respond right away.

Something shifted in her then—hotter, faster than her embarrassment. Her anger at Jason, her humiliation, the months of feeling invisible… it pulsed together into something sharper. Something wicked.

He was gorgeous. Calm. Real. Not distracted or cold. And looking at her like he saw her.

Her fingers slowly loosened the towel’s grip just enough to let it slide slightly off her thigh… then further, letting the edge gape open to reveal the upper swell of her breast. Her nipple brushed the terry cloth as it shifted, tightening instinctively.

“I’m… still drying,” she said, voice quieter now, colored with something deeper.

Lucas didn’t move.

She smiled. Slow. Daring. Her body hummed with heat that had nothing to do with the wall heater.

She rose to her feet, letting the towel drop just enough to tempt—still technically covered, but only just. Her bare feet padded softly across the floor as she walked toward him, hips swaying slightly beneath the loose wrap of cotton. Her pulse thrummed in her throat.

He said nothing.

But when she was close enough to see the drip trailing down his navel, he reached up… and casually tossed the towel from his shoulders onto a bench.

His body was already responding.

So was hers.