Who’s showering?

—

I woke up again to find myself completely wrapped in Travis’s arms.

Something hard and unmistakable pressed against the top of my thigh. His breath was hot.

Travis seemed to be waking up too. He ran a hand over my forehead, slow and careful. “You’re still a little warm. How do you feel?”

I snapped fully awake. Yeah, because you’re the one burning up.

I tried to shove him off with my elbow, but he caught my waist. His rough fingertips brushed my skin, sending a jolt through me. I couldn’t stop the soft moan that slipped out.

“Anna.” Travis’s lips hovered near my ear, his voice low and dangerously tempting. “Wanna do it?”

If this had been before, I would’ve melted right into him. But after last night, there was distance between us. To me, his offer felt like charity.

My body was still weak from the fever. I pushed him away, my expression cold.

“Not in the mood.”

Travis went pale instantly. A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face as he backed off. When I turned, I ran straight into those deep, unreadable eyes.

“It’s my fault,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have asked right now.”

I snorted. At least he had some self-awareness.

“But don’t do something like that again, okay?” His lashes lowered. “I’ll worry if your fever comes back.”

Before I could respond, he went to the wardrobe and pulled out clothes for me. He usually wore a robe, but now he only had a towel tied around his waist. The hard lines of his muscles were, annoyingly, pretty sexy.

My gaze slid over his narrow hips and the curve of his ass, and my heart skipped.

Whatever. Put any top male model in front of me and I’d look too.

He handed me the clothes. I changed right in front of him without thinking twice. As expected, he politely turned his head away.

I didn’t know then that the moment I walked out, Travis slipped into my private bathroom and turned the water on again.

A few days later, I noticed things missing from my dressing room. At first I didn’t care. I had plenty of cheap fast-fashion stuff, so whatever. But the Victoria’s Secret lace set Wendy gave me last week was gone, and that made no sense.

At dinner, I told Travis, “Someone’s been stealing from the house.”

He was spreading butter on toast with a knife. The moment he heard that, his hand froze. He didn’t look up, but his lips pressed into a thin line. “What’s missing?”

“My lingerie.”

I said it casually, but he completely lost his composure. The knife slipped, smearing a greasy streak of butter across his fingers.

I watched him, suspicious. “Why are you so nervous? Did you steal it?”

Travis stayed quiet for a few seconds. Then he let out a low chuckle and finally looked at me. “What do you think?”

I gave him a flippant smile. What did I think? A man like Travis, so rigid and serious, borderline obsessive about cleanliness… what would he want with my underwear?

I dropped the subject. “What time will you be back tonight? I have a ‘gift’ for you.” The divorce papers were already in my bag.

He pushed a piece of toast toward me. His voice came out fast, almost too fast. “Whenever you need me, I’ll come back.”

I barely had time to process the strange edge in his tone before his phone rang. His assistant walked in with a briefcase to remind him about a meeting.

Travis got up and left.

I touched the spot where my heart had skipped a beat, then rubbed my suddenly warm ear. I was embarrassed and angry at the same time. Couldn’t he just talk like a normal person? Did he have to radiate that sexy vibe right then?

That afternoon, I swung by a private clinic on my way out. The doctor said stress was throwing my hormones out of whack and suggested I find a way to release it, preferably in bed. Wendy jumped at the idea, practically vibrating with excitement, offering to “lend” me a few eight-pack pretty boys from her modeling agency.

I was eating watermelon and mindlessly scrolling on my iPad. I shut her down immediately.

“Have you been breaking out lately?” she asked.

My chest tightened.

There really were two pimples, right on my chin.

“Come on, babe. A little taste of something new beats reheated leftovers.” Wendy leaned in, coaxing. “And you two are basically signing divorce papers. Why not?”

I put my phone down and thought it over. I had nothing else going on, so maybe I could at least go look. Isn’t it just hormones? Once I was free, I could have a hundred models if I wanted.

But not now.

That wasn’t cowardice. It was my line. My moral line, as a socialite.

Wendy laughed a couple times, clearly not buying my self-control.

I felt confident at first, but then reality hit.

That night, I had a ridiculously hot dream. In it, I was kissing a man and couldn’t pull away. Our breathing tangled together, his heat and those wet, suggestive sounds dragging me deeper. I gave in completely, reckless under his teasing, drowning in the pleasure we shared.

Right at the peak, I saw Travis’s face up close.

I jolted awake, heart hammering, drenched in cold sweat. My legs felt weak. I wanted to go downstairs and pour a drink just to steady myself.

Then I heard a few careless jeers from the living room.

“Some men want it so bad they’re going crazy, but because they’re afraid of scaring the woman they love, they play the saint.” One of Travis’s friends lounged on the sofa with a whiskey glass in hand, his voice lazy and dripping with mockery. “Not naming names.”

“Women can’t stand being ignored, man,” another added. “Keep bottling it up and your wife’s gonna be partying in Vegas with somebody else. Then you’ll be the one crying with nowhere to go.”

They were all close with Travis and never watched their mouths. Travis just sat there, sipping his drink in silence. His handsome face gave nothing away.

Then he said something that made them burst out laughing.

But I caught it. A sharp sense that something was off.

They mentioned Travis had a secret Reddit account.

Hoping to catch him, I dredged up the username I vaguely remembered and searched it. An account popped up with the same profile picture. The pinned post stopped me cold.

It read:

“I finally married the girl I’ve secretly loved for years, but my sex drive is extremely high. How can I make her enjoy it without leaving emotional scars?”

The next post:

“There’s too much temptation out there. If she thinks I’m boring, that’s on me. If I try pleasing her this way, will she kick me out?”

And beneath it was a photo.

Revealing clothes. Metal chains.

My blood went hot in an instant…