Chapter Six

Sage. 

The water is the first thing that makes my body unclench.

Not the heat, not the lavender foam, not the soft piano playlist humming through the tiny Bluetooth speaker on the counter, just the silence. 

The kind of silence that feels earned. The kind that feels like I ran through hell and finally found a door to close behind me.

My knees break the surface of the water as I sigh deeper into the tub. 

I slide my hands over my thighs, feeling the warmth loosen everything that has been wound too tight for too long. 

My hair is piled on top of my head, a few curls spilling out, dampening against my neck. 

Candlelight flickers off every surface, my one pathetic attempt at romance for myself.

I’m not expecting anyone.

And I’m definitely not expecting him.

I let my eyes fall shut, sinking an inch lower. “Finally,” I whisper to myself. “Just peace.”

But peace lasts maybe thirty seconds before the door opens.

I don’t hear the knob. I don’t hear footsteps. I just feel him. A shift in air. A faint scent clean, masculine, warm like amber and something darker beneath it. And then

“Sage.”

My eyes snap open.

Andre stands in the doorway, broad shoulders framed by the soft bathroom light, one hand lifted casually against the doorframe as if he belongs here.

As if this is normal. As if I’m not completely naked in a bathtub with nothing but bubbles and bad luck hiding me.

I jolt upright. “What the hell Andre, get out!” I yell

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t give me that infuriating, slow once over he usually does. Instead, he steps forward calm, quiet, controlled and holds out a towel for me 

A fluffy white towel, folded neatly, like this is some luxury resort and he is room service.

“Andre,” I grit out, “get. Out.”

He raises one brow, but he hands me the towel without argument. His fingers brush mine warm, firm and something shoots down my spine, hot and uninvited.

“Thank you,” I mutter, clutching the towel like a shield. “Now leave.”

Finally, he does.

I hear the door close, and I let out a long exhale, my shoulders sagging as tension drains from me like water.

God, why does he always do this? Why does he always appear when I’m most vulnerable emotionally, physically, spiritually like he has a radar for my worst moments?

I shake my head and climb out of the tub, wrapping the towel around myself tightly, tucking one end over my chest. Water trails down my legs and soaks into the bath mat. My skin feels too hot now not from the bath, but from the thought of him seeing even an inch more of me than he should.

I grab lotion, applying it quickly, forcing my breath to stay even. He is gone, I tell myself.

He listened for once.

Good.

But the second I open my bedroom door, towel snug around my body, I freeze.

He is sitting on my bed.

Watching me like he had been waiting.

My heart slams against my ribs.

“What, what are you doing here?” My voice cracks embarrassingly. “I told you to leave.”

He doesn’t answer at first. He just drags his gaze up my body, slow and devastating. Not in a vulgar way no. Worse. Controlled. Intent. Like he’s memorizing the outline of me even through the towel.

“I heard you,” he finally says, voice low. “But you didn’t say please.”

My jaw drops. “Are you serious? Andre”

And then it happens. The towel slips.

A small sound escapes me half gasp, half disbelief as the fabric loosens, then falls.

Just falls. Like time slows down just to embarrass me.

It hits the floor quietly, but the sound feels deafening. And I’m suddenly bare. Completely. Utterly. Naked.

My skin prickles, heat rising everywhere.

I should run. I should drop to the floor.

I should do anything except stand there frozen like a deer in headlights.

But I can’t move.

Not when his eyes widen just a fraction.

Not when heat flickers across his face shock, hunger, restraint battling all at once.

“Sage” He says my name like a warning. A promise. A threat. I don’t know which.

I grab for the towel, but he’s faster.

He crosses the space between us in one long stride, and suddenly he’s right in front of me taller, broader, impossibly composed while I’m falling apart under his gaze.

He picks up the towel. He lifts it gently.

He wraps it around me like I’m something fragile he js somehow afraid to break.

The towel closes over my skin, blocking the cool air, but not the heat radiating off him.

Not the nearness. Not the tension thickening the room.

His fingers touch my collarbone as he adjusts the fabric. They trail lower, slow and deliberate. And then His knuckles brush my nipple.

A soft, bare, accidental but not accidental touch that sends a shockwave through me strong enough that my knees almost buckle.

I suck in a breath. His eyes snap to mine.

He felt that. He definitely felt that.

His hand stills for one heartbeat. Then another.

His jaw flexes once, hard. And then he leans in.

His breath touches my ear first warm, slow, dragging heat down my neck. My stomach flips violently. My thighs press together on instinct.

“Andre” I whisper, trying to steady myself. “Don’t.”

He inhales, like he’s smelling me, tasting the moment, savoring the reaction he knows damn well he’s pulling out of me.

And then, in a voice rough enough to scrape heat across every inch of my body, he whispers:

“You are so sexy, little saint.” A tremor rolls down my spine. Little saint.

He’s called me that before, but never like this.

Never when I'm naked and flushed and trembling under his hands. 

Before I can breathe, before I can respond, before I can collect even one piece of my sanity

He steps back. Just one step.

And it feels like the room loses gravity.

He turns toward the door.

“Andre,” I manage, barely audible.

He pauses at the threshold, hand on the frame the same way he held it in the bathroom. Only this time he looks back at me over his shoulder eyes dark, jaw tight, expression unreadable.

Then he walks out leaving me standing in the middle of my room, utterly stunned.