“Marcus,” she said, not opening her eyes. “You’re supposed to be at the late meeting.”
“You missed me,” she said, more statement than question. alexis fawx shower surprise
“Worth it.”
She felt the heat of him before she felt his body—the shower was spacious, but suddenly it felt very small. He stepped in behind her, fully clothed. His soaked dress shirt clung to his chest, and she could feel the cool, wet fabric press against her bare skin before he pulled her hips back against his. “Marcus,” she said, not opening her eyes
The front door clicked shut, a sound of finality that echoed through the quiet house. Alexis Fawx dropped her carry-on bag with a heavy thud, rolling her neck to release the tension that had calcified there somewhere between the red-eye flight and the two-hour traffic jam. He stepped in behind her, fully clothed
Later—minutes or an hour, she couldn’t tell—they sat together on the shower floor, the water now lukewarm, her head resting against his shoulder. He had peeled off his ruined shirt and tossed it over the curtain rod.