Page 90 of Shattered By Grace

Victoria swallowed, her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn’t dare move, afraid that even the smallest shift might break whatever fragile thing this was.

But Tristan didn’t say a word.

And neither did she.

The sound of running water pulled Victoria from the depths of sleep. She blinked a few times, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as soft morning light filtered through the large window. From the bed, all she could see was trees, their branches swaying gently in the breeze.

Rolling over, her lips curled into a small smile at the sight of the unmade bed where Tristan had been.

I could get used to this.

Get real.After today when she told him everything, he’d walk right out of her life faster than he could say her name.

She buried her face in the pillow and let out a muffled groan, the frustration bubbling up inside her. She flipped onto her back, staring at the ceiling as the scent of cedar and clean spice reached her, trying to will away the anxiety twisting in her gut. His body wash.

Sheshouldstay right where she was. But then she noticed the bathroom door cracked open.

Throwing the covers off, she stood and stretched, sleep still clinging to her limbs. She moved toward the large window, hergaze drifting over the lush greenery beyond, but it wasn’t enough to distract her.

Silently, she stepped toward the bathroom, intending to walk straight in…until she saw him.

Tristan’s massive back was to her, muscles shifting beneath his skin as he ran his hands over his body, water gliding down the ridges of his toned frame.

She froze, mesmerized.

Oh, holy fuck.

Tristan tilted his head back, running his hands through his hair as the water cascaded over him. Rinsing away the suds, his fingers trailed down his body, unhurried.

I didn’t think washing yourself could be sexy.

Her breath hitched—right before her head collided with the door.

Shit.

Victoria’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the doorframe. She should look away, leave before she got caught, but she couldn’t.

Tristan stood beneath the stream of hot water, his head tilted back, eyes closed, droplets sliding over every sculpted plane of his body. The slow, deliberate way his hands moved over himself was intoxicating. It was a show, a performance meant for her.

Oh. My. God.

Her pulse pounded in her ears as his fingers trailed lower, wrapping around himself with a lazy confidence that sent fire licking up her spine. He knew she was watching, his smirk was proof of that, but instead of stopping, he made sure she saw everything. Every slow, measured stroke. Every flex of muscle. Every quiet exhale that barely reached over the sound of the shower.

Heat coiled low in her stomach, her thighs clenching on instinct as she bit her lip hard enough to sting.

His hand tightened, his rhythm shifting ever so slightly. A deep, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest, and he finally cracked one eye open…straight at her.

Shit.

Her stomach dropped. Every muscle in her body screamed at her to move, to run, but she couldn’t. Not when he held her in place with nothing but a look.

Tristan’s movements slowed, teasing. His smirk deepened.

“Enjoying the show?” His voice horse with pleasure.

Her breath left her in a rush. She slapped a hand over her mouth, unsure whether she wanted to laugh in embarrassment or melt into the floor.

“I—”

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