She didn’t press. She didn’t hover. She didn’t offer help I hadn’t asked for.
The restraint should have been a relief, but it wasn’t. It made me want to reach for her and yank her into me and prove I was more than this broken shell of a man.
My hand tightened around the towel until my knuckles went white.
She stepped to the side to put the clean pan away, and I needed to get past her to the cabinet. The kitchen narrowed in that moment—tight space, two bodies, nowhere to look but at her.
My brain said,Go around.
My body said,Move her.
My hand landed at her lower back, a brief, instinctive press meant to guide her out of my way.
The contact was light. Nothing. The kind of touch a man used without thinking.
My skin registered it like a brand.
Clara’s spine straightened under my palm. Her muscles there went taut, like she’d been braced for impact and wasn’t sure whether to lean into it or run.
My hand lifted immediately, yanked back like I’d burned myself.
Clara turned her head slightly, eyes wide for a beat before her lashes lowered. She swallowed. Her voice came out careful when she spoke.
“Sorry,” she said, even though she’d done nothing.
The apology gutted me in a way I didn’t expect.
“I didn’t—” The words jammed in my throat. I didn’t know what I was trying to say.I didn’t touch you like that. I didn’t mean it. Ididmean it.
I cleared my throat hard enough to scrape it raw. “Cabinet,” I managed, like that explained everything.
Clara nodded and stepped aside. “Right.”
The dishes were done within minutes after that, both of us moving too fast, as if finishing the task would drain the tension out of the room.
Soon the sink was empty. The counters were wiped. The kitchen looked ... normal.
I dried my hands on the towel and turned, expecting space.
She was closer than I thought.
Clara had stepped sideways and ended up right in front of me, half boxed in by the counter and the cabinet. We were barely a foot apart. Close enough that I could see a faint smudge at the curve of her jaw. Close enough that the steam from the sink hadn’t quite left her hair, loose strands curling at her temple.
I should have stepped back. Given her room. Done the smart, safe, gentlemanly thing.
My body stayed put.
Her eyes lifted, catching on mine. The air between us shifted, tight and charged, like the whole house was holding its breath.
“Uh ... you have something.” My voice came out low and gravelly.
Her brows knit in confusion. “Where?”
I reached up, fingers brushing the side of her face as I swiped my thumb over the spot near her cheekbone. Warm skin. Soft. The barest hint of a tremble under my touch.
Clara went still.
Her breath hitched, just enough that I felt it against my wrist. Her pupils blew wide, the gray blue of her eyes darkening as they flicked from my eyes to my mouth and back again like she was fighting herself every inch of the way. Heat punched low in my gut. My pulse kicked hard. My dick stirred, thick and insistent, like it remembered things my life had no room for anymore.