Chapter 11: An Accidental Touch
The steam from the shower had begun to thin, but the air in the small room remained dense, charged. Debbie’s feet seemed rooted to the bath mat. Every instinct screamed to retreat, to mumble an apology and close the door, preserving the shred of formality that remained between them.
But he’d invited her in.
And a deeper, hungrier part of her, the part that had spent last night memorizing the map of his muscles with her fingertips, refused to move.
“Okay,” she heard herself say, the word barely audible over the drip of the faucet.
She stepped fully inside, the cool tile a shock against her bare feet. The door clicked shut behind her, sealing them in the humid, intimate space. She was acutely aware of her own state of undress—the short, ivory silk nightie that barely covered her thighs, the thin strap that had slipped off one shoulder. It felt absurdly fragile next to his unabashed nudity.
“Hope you don’t mind the view,” Matt said conversationally, swishing his razor in the water. He tipped his chin up, dragging the blade down the line of his throat. “Didn’t think you’d be up this early.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” she murmured. She moved to the counter, putting a careful foot of space between his hip and hers. She picked up her hairbrush, the familiar plastic a small anchor in the swirling unreality of the moment.
In the mirror, their reflections coexisted. Him, tall and damp and unclothed. Her, softer, clothed in whisper-thin silk, her chestnut hair tangled from a restless night. She watched his hands, the capable, sure movements as he cleaned his jawline. Then her eyes, against all her willpower, drifted lower.
There it was. Thick, and soft, and resting against his thigh. A part of him so unselfconsciously displayed it stole the breath from her lungs. It was utterly normal. Utterly human. And yet, seeing it there, in the calm domesticity of their shared morning ritual, felt more profoundly indecent than anything she could have imagined. Her face flushed, a heat that swept from her chest to her hairline.
She dragged the brush through her hair, the strokes jerky and tense.
“You’re quiet,” Matt said, splashing water on his face and patting it dry with the back of his wrist. He turned slightly, leaning a hip against the sink, facing her reflection. His body was now in her peripheral vision, a living sculpture. “Everything okay? Still weird about last night?”
The question was so blunt, so unconcerned, it punctured the tension slightly. He was thinking of the massage. Of her professional touch. Not this.Never this.
“No,” she said, too quickly. She forced a laugh, it came out thin. “No, it’s fine. You just… surprised me. That’s all.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” He grinned, a boyish, apologetic flash of teeth. “My bad. Roommate rule number one: always knock. I’ll remember.”
Debbie continued brushing her hair, the rhythm slowly calming her frantic nerves. The initial shock was subsiding, replaced by a dizzying, hyper-awareness. She could see the individual droplets of water caught in the dark hair on his calves. She could feel the faint radiant heat coming from his skin.
This was a man. A young, beautiful, physical man. And for this suspended minute, he was simply sharing space with her.
“Big plans today?” he asked around the toothbrush, his words garbled.
“Anatomy textbook,” she said, finding her voice settling into something nearer normal. “Page ninety-seven through the nervous system. Thrilling stuff.”
“Sounds it. I’ve got practice at two. Otherwise, just gonna be a slug. Maybe fix that wobbly leg on the coffee table.”
“It’s been wobbly for three years,” she said, a real smile touching her lips.
“Well, now you’ve got a live-in handyman.” He turned fully to face her then, not the mirror, but her. His hazel eyes were clear and warm. “And hey, thanks again. For last night. My back hasn’t felt that good in, like, a decade.”
He was close. So close she could see the fine, clean lines where the shaving cream had been. The smooth skin of his chest was at her eye level. Her gaze snagged on the dark trail leading down, and a jolt, hot and liquid, shot through her core. She gripped the edge of the counter.
“Any time,” she breathed.
He seemed to finally register her attire, his eyes flicking down to the silk and then back up to her face, a casual, appreciative glance. “Cool nightie.”