CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIXCHRISTINAThe shower shut off, and a few moments later Marcel stepped out, towel low on his hips, water still sliding down the hard ridges of his chest. His hair was wet, dark strands sticking to his forehead, he stopped dead when he saw me.I was sitting right on the edge of the bed, completely naked, legs crossed loosely, watching him.“Christina,” he said, voice rough with disapproval. “What the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to be resting, put some clothes on, you might catch a cold”He shook his head and turned toward the closet, muttering something about the doctor’s orders and me being impossible. I watched the muscles in his back flex as he reached for one of my nightgowns.I couldn’t wait anymore.I stood up quietly and moved behind him. My fingertips brushed along the warm, damp skin of his back, tracing the deep lines of muscle that shifted under my touch as he went completely still.“Christina…” His voice was a warning, but it cracked at the end
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