Page 92 of One Wrong Move

“Really, thank you so much,” Harper says sweetly. “For the help. We’ll be down in a bit.”

The innkeeper steps out and closes the door in her wake. It shuts with a soft, near-silent click, but I hear it like it was a gunshot.

“Well,” Harper says. She takes a few steps forward and sets down the small bag from the grocery store. “I guess this is home for tonight.”

Harper

I shower first. Standing in the bathtub, using a handheld showerhead to wash away the remnants of pond grime. Despite the poor water pressure and the awkward position, it’s the best thing I’ve experienced all day. Right next to seeing Nate shirtless on the dock with water running over his tanned skin.

Which is incredibly confusing.

I use half of the complimentary sample-size shampoo bottle and nearly all of the miniature soap before remembering that Nate needs to hop in the shower later. I rinse my hair and scrub my skin until there are no traces of the pond left.

It’s not quite as satisfying to put on the grocery store clothes again, but I do it. A pair of clean underwear and the camisole I’d bought. And then, I wrap the bathrobe I found hanging in the room around myself. The pants and the sweatshirt I was wearing earlier smell faintly like the pond, and I leave them folded beside the sink.

When I crack open the bathroom door to the room, I notice Nate sitting on the corner chair. There’s a plate of food beside him.

“You went to the restaurant?” I ask.

His eyes are unreadable, and his smile is nowhere to be seen. “I tried, but they were closed. Edith made us some toast and tea.”

“Oh, that was nice of her.”

He stands and runs a hand through his hair. The frown is immediate, like he realized just how dirty he is. “Yeah. Have at it. I’ll grab a shower.”

The bathroom door closes behind him, and I’m left in the comfortable silence of the cozy hotel room. This place is beautifully decorated, with a fireplace across from the four-poster bed. The pretty bedspread and matching ornamental pillows draw my eye, and I grab the plate with toast and sink cross-legged onto the softness of the mattress.

Nerves have been somersaulting my stomach since Edith led us to this room. And now, hearing the water in the shower, knowing Nate is washing off… naked… and he’s going to come out here after…

To sleep in the same bed as me.

I shouldn’t like the idea quite as much as I do. I have no right to, no claim to, no decency to.

On the small side table is a bag of rice. Our phones are still submerged in the grains. I chew on a piece of toast and consider turning mine back on. But if it’s still wet, that might fry it completely… and what would I do with the phone anyway?

We’re not getting out of here until the morning.

I drink chamomile tea and focus on taking regular breaths. Last weekend’s kisses had been easy enough to ignore today. We focused on the estate, on having fun, then on the drive. Now, I feel like they are all I can think about.

The door to the bathroom opens. Nate walks out with only a towel wrapped around his waist. My throat turns dry when I’m presented with that magnificent broad chest. And then he turns around. Faces the dresser. I spot the droplets of water along his spine and across the muscles of his shoulder blades. Rivulets trickle from his damp hair; this wet, his brown strands look almost black.

Nate glances over his shoulder. “Eat all of that. I finished my piece already.”

I swallow. Barely. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” He rummages through one of the plastic bags. Pulls out another T-shirt from the two-pack he bought and puts it on. Grabs a clean pair of boxer briefs and disappears back into the bathroom.

I chew mechanically. Put the plate away.

Then, he returns, wearing nothing but that T-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs. A navy-colored set, as if they are meant to be.

His legs look muscled.

Of course, they’d be. I’ve seen his upper body.

I reach for the bedcover and focus on that single action rather than looking at Nate.

“I’ll grab the chair,” he says.

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