Scott

The party was hitting its late, hazy stride — laughter looser, music softer, the wine deeper in everyone’s veins.

Sharon was in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, rinsing the wine glasses that had started to pile up. Her fingers moved rhythmically, lost in the warm water and distant sound of voices upstairs. The light above her caught her collarbone, the back of her neck. She didn’t notice when Scott walked in — but she felt him.

He leaned against the doorframe, a bottle of red hanging loosely from one hand, eyes dark and gleaming. He didn’t say anything for a moment — just watched the sway of her hips as she reached for another glass.

"You always work this hard at your own parties?" he finally asked, voice rough, too relaxed to be innocent.

Sharon glanced back, arching an eyebrow. “Someone’s got to clean up your spills.”

He smirked and stepped closer, letting the bottle clink lightly onto the counter beside her. "Could’ve fooled me. From where I’m standing, looks like you're showing off.”

Her breath caught — not from the words, but from the warmth at her back. He was standing too close now. She could feel the heat of his chest near her shoulder blades, the scent of his cologne laced with whiskey.

“You're drunk,” she said, half turning, eyes narrowing but not stepping away.

“I’m observant,” he murmured, brushing a knuckle down her spine. “And I’ve been watching you all night, Sharon. The way you laugh. The way that dress clings to you when you walk out of a room.”

He let the silence hang for a beat.

“I can see why Robert talks about you the way he does.”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t — not when his hand slid along her lower back, not quite touching anything forbidden, but close enough to spark. Her heart pounded in her throat. She turned fully toward him now, their faces inches apart.

“Careful,” she whispered.

“Why?” he asked, lips grazing the air near hers. “You want to tell me to stop?”

He brought a hand to her waist, fingers splaying wide, thumb brushing the side of her hip. The touch was firm. Confident. Dangerous.

“No one’s coming in here,” he said, voice thicker now. “They’re all upstairs. Distracted. You’ve got two minutes to stop me.”