continuing to watch

Tom’s heart was a pounding drum in his chest as the water cut off.

The sudden quiet made every sound from inside sharper — the swish of the curtain being drawn back, the squeak of her bare feet shifting on the bathmat.

Steam rolled into the hallway, carrying the clean, heated scent of her skin. He could hear her breathing, calm and unhurried, the kind of private rhythm he had once known while lying beside her in bed.

Through the slim crack in the door, he caught a glimpse of her reaching for a towel. She wrapped it around herself in one smooth motion, cinching it high under her arms, though not tight enough to hide the slight gap as she moved. Droplets traced paths down her calves, the light from the vanity turning her damp skin to a soft, golden sheen.

Tom knew he should retreat — now, before the moment turned reckless. But his body didn’t listen. He stayed there, watching as she bent to dry her legs, the towel shifting just enough to reveal the pale swell of her hip.

Then she turned toward the counter, picking up a hairbrush. In the mirror above the sink, her eyes lifted — not toward him, but toward the door.

He froze.

She didn’t seem to see him, not yet. She was studying her own reflection, brushing through the darkened strands of hair, humming faintly. Still, that half-second of her gaze in his direction made his throat go dry. One step back, and he’d be out of view completely. One step forward, and…

The sound of the hallway clock ticking reached him, impossibly loud.

She set the brush down, leaning forward on her hands, the towel pulling tighter across her chest. “I really have to hurry,” she murmured to herself, glancing toward the closed bedroom door where her husband — not him — would soon be expecting her.

Tom’s jaw clenched. That casual mention lit a strange, possessive fire in him, making it harder to step away, harder to let her go.