Isabella Hawthorne
My cheeks were still burning from the encounter at the bathroom door.
Witnessing Damien, all tousled hair and damp skin, had thrown me for a loop. Now, safely back in his furnished private chamber, the awkwardness was amplified by him looking...well, ridiculously handsome.
Gone was the towel, replaced by a crisp black shirt and dark trousers that clung to his lean frame. His hair was still damp, a few stray strands here and there. But it was his face that truly stole the show. The mischievous glint in his eyes was replaced by a genuine warmth, and a smile stretched across his lips, so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes.
Was that a hint of pink dusting his high cheekbones?
I blinked, momentarily convinced I'd imagined the blush. "You're...smirking," I finall
