The bathroom door slid open, and a wave of steam rolled out ahead of him. Luke stepped into the living room, shirtless, his dark hair still dripping. One towel was draped over his shoulders, while another was wrapped precariously low around his hips, the knot resting right on his pelvic bone. Elena was curled up on the sofa. The TV was on, but the volume was muted. She caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye—one second, two seconds—and felt the heat crawl up into the tips of her ears. He took the towel from his shoulders, rubbed his head with a few lazy strokes, and tossed it toward the laundry basket with a practiced, masculine grace. "Hairdryer," he said, his voice dropping an octave. A stray droplet escaped his wet hair, tracking down the corded muscle of his neck and disappearing into the hollow of his collarbone. Elena pointed toward the entertainment center. "Left drawer." Luke didn't move. He leaned against the doorframe, watchi
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