The air between them pulsed with heat. Mira’s breath came shallow as she stood naked under the low glow of the living room light. Her skin prickled with awareness, not just of the cold but of the weight of his stare. He didn’t touch her yet. Didn’t rush. He circled her slowly, glass still in hand, and let his eyes explore every inch of her body like he had all night. And maybe he did.
She didn’t know his name. Still. Not really. But she no longer needed it. To her, he was already Caleb. And he was already her husband.
“You thought you could write about me without consequences?” he said quietly, voice smooth like velvet stretched over something sharp.
She opened her mouth to speak, to explain or protest, but no words came. Her throat was dry. Her thighs ached with tension. She was too we
