Page 14 of Depths of Desire
I didn’t look at first. I knew I shouldn’t. I stared into the fire like it was talking to me.
Then movement caught in the corner of my eye, and I looked anyway.
He stepped out with a towel slung over his shoulder, wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs.
Just briefs.
His skin was damp. His hair was darker, pushed back, water still beading at the ends. He was wiping his face with the towel, like it hadn’t occurred to him that walking out half-naked into a shared space might be a problem.
My eyes dropped before I could stop them. Broad shoulders. Long legs. Lean, defined lines that weren’t just aesthetic—they were functional. Power and discipline made into shape. He wasn’t even trying, and it was undoing me.
I wanted to look away.
I didn’t.
Something clenched deep in my gut. It was both painful and familiar. Like want edged with guilt.
I didn’t do this. Not often. Not like this. I kept things physical when I needed to, distant and forgettable. I didn’t let people get under my skin. I didn’t sleep next to anyone.
But Lennox wasn’t forgettable.
He turned toward the kitchen, stretching a little, and the line of his back curved with it. My breath caught.
How the hell was I supposed to survive the night?
“Breakfast’s included, by the way,” he said as if he hadn’t left the room for twenty minutes. As if he wasn’t wearing a tiny pair of briefs with seams sliding dangerously high up his round cheeks.
My mouth was too dry to speak, my tongue stuck to the roof, and I looked up, tracing the curve of his lower back and following his spine to his pronounced shoulder blades. Could he feel the heat and weight of my intense gaze? If he could, he would have been nailed against the wall by now.
As if I had said those words, Lennox looked at me over his fine, curved shoulder. “There’s a restaurant if you’re hungry.”
“I’m not.”
His gaze lingered on me a moment longer, and then he shrugged, teasing with those shoulders as he flexed them.
My discomfort simmered deep within me, and I shot to my feet before Lennox could ask another question or look at me again. I didn’t think I could keep my cool if he looked at me now. His pouncing around in briefs had left me well and truly flushed.
I found my duffel and pulled out clean clothes, then went into the bathroom. The shower didn’t feel as good as it should have, but at least I was alone. I took my time standing there, letting the hot water slide down my body, and stepped out only when it made no sense to stay inside. If I hesitated, Lennox was likely tobreak the door and try chatting. He’d go mad in the silence of the cottage.
I stepped out of the bathroom, freshly dressed and still a little damp. The air in the cabin felt warmer now, thick with the scent of the fire and faint traces of Lennox’s cologne, something woody and light that clung to the room even more than it did to him.
He had put his clothes on.
That was probably a good thing.
I told myself it was good. Both safer and saner. My heart could stop trying to claw its way out of my ribs.
Still, some traitorous part of me felt disappointed.
He sat on the couch now, one leg curled under him, wearing sweatpants and a fitted T-shirt that did nothing to hide the way he was built. He looked comfortable, at ease, like he had already settled into the idea of being snowed in for the night.
I tried to match that energy. I dropped into the armchair across from him, leaving space between us like a line I didn’t dare cross. The fire crackled softly. Outside, the wind picked up again. I watched the windows fog at the corners and kept my hands pressed flat on my thighs, grounding myself.
We sat in silence.
Not the kind I liked. Not the calm, measured quiet of a pool before a race. This was the kind that filled every gap with tension.
Lennox shifted a little. His gaze flicked to me, then away.
