Page 49 of A Pen Pal for Christmas

Bare, with water droplets beading on his chest.

His chest, which held artfully done tattoos that made me want to reach out and trace them as they curled over his skin.

Oh, no. He was in a towel. Definitelyjusta towel. And I… I was gawking.

My gaze flicked downward for a split second before darting back up to his face. His lips quirked like he’d noticed, which only made my cheeks burn hotter.

“Morning,” he said casually, like this wasn’t a totally unfair situation for my overworked brain. “You doing okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” I managed, my voice a little higher than usual. “Good. Totally good. How about you?”

“Also good,” he said cautiously. “Sorry, just thought I’d check on you before I shut the door all the way. Left it open in case you needed me.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, like it was no big deal that he’d thought of that. Meanwhile, my chest ached a little because it was a really big deal to me.

I swallowed, offering a small smile. “Thanks. That… makes sense. I wondered if that was why.”

His smile softened, and something in his eyes warmed. “I’m gonna close it now and get dressed, if that’s cool?”

“Yes! Cool. Totally cool.” I waved a hand, trying not to focus on the water droplet that slid from his jaw to his collarbone. “Do your thing. I’ll just… stay over here. Not looking. At anything.”

He chuckled, and the deep sound made my heart skip. “I won’t be long.”

With that, he disappeared back into the bathroom, and the door clicked shut. I let out a shaky breath and flopped back on the bed, my face buried in my hands once again. And once again, I tried to pull it together, but that image of him—water dripping down his chest and his voice so low and warm—was going to haunt me for the rest of the day.

What was worse, though, was the way his care for me shone through in the smallest gestures, like leaving the door cracked just in case I needed him. It wasn’t just his looks that were getting to me—it was him. And the realization left me reeling.

When the bathroom door opened again, Hudson stepped out wearing a dark green Henley that clung a little too well to his shoulders and arms, paired with worn jeans that hung just right. His short hair was still damp, styled in that shorter-on-the-sides way that was typical of Marines, but there were enough stubborn strands curling at the edges to look maddeningly effortless.

I breathed out through my nose. My mind didn’t need more to deal with this morning, but apparently, he wasn’t cutting me any slack.

“You ready to head across the hall?” he asked, his tone casual as he pulled his watch on over his wrist.

I blinked, forcing myself to focus. “Across the hall?”

“For your stuff,” he clarified, slipping on his boots. “Unless you want to wear my sweats around town today.”

His eyes lingered on me for a split second, a flicker of something warm and appreciative passing over his expression before he turned back to tightening the laces.

It was subtle, but I caught it, and my cheeks flared with heat.

“Oh, right. Yeah, I should probably grab something,” I said quickly, my voice just a little too high.

“I’ll come with you,” he said, his tone leaving no room for debate.

I got out of bed on shaky legs, raising an eyebrow at him. “You’re really taking this ‘not letting me out of your sight’ thing seriously, huh?”

He shrugged, his lips twitching into a small smile as he opened the door. “This is serious, Sofia. Call me old-fashioned, but I’ve been called worse.”

A laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “Old-fashioned, huh? Is that what we’re calling it?”

“You got a better word?” He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe with an ease that only made him more unfairly distracting.

I moved toward him as I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. “Protective. Overbearing. Take your pick.”

“Protective,” he said without hesitation. “Definitely protective. Overbearing would be making you wait while I pick out your clothes for you.”

“Please don’t.”

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