The hot, aromatic water laps gently against my body, the fragrant clouds of steam rising around us to blur the hard edges of the bathroom.
Through the haze, I watch Locke stand by the edge of the tub. His hands rest on his hips, his gray eyes tracking every breath I take as if he is still monitoring a fragile patient. He looks imposing, shadowed in the warm amber lighting, his broad shoulders practically filling the doorway.
But beneath the stoic facade, I can see the quiet tension lingering in his jaw, the subtle tight set of his shoulders. He’s still holding his breath for me, still guarding the perimeter of my peace.
I can’t stand the distance between us. Not tonight. Not after a day that tried so violently to tear everything I love apart.
Slowly, I reach my hand up out of the wate
