The room was empty.

The bed was still neatly made, his duffel bag sitting open on the chair, a few clothes tossed carelessly across it. But the sound of running water drew my gaze to the en-suite bathroom door, which was also slightly open. Steam curled out in lazy wisps, carrying the clean, masculine scent of his body wash—something woody and dark that made my mouth water.

He was in the shower.

Naked.

The thought hit me like a bolt of lightning. I imagined the hot water cascading over his broad, tattooed shoulders, tracing every ridge of muscle down his powerful back, over the firm globes of his ass, and...