Isabel sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought. From the bathroom, she could hear the hiss of water as Howard showered. Suddenly the sound stopped and Howard emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.
His fair hair was dark with water and he ran his fingers through it slowly. Droplets of water trickled down his shoulders, dripping down his sculpted chest and washboard abs. She watched the water trail down his body and imagined tracing the same path with her fingertips—the warmth of his skin under her hands, the hard pull of his muscles just beneath.
"What are you looking at?" he asked.
She felt her cheeks go hot and forced herself to look up at his face.
"Nothing," she said. "I was just thinking."
"Your hair is still wet," he said. "Why don'
