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But she looked bold. Unbothered.

Her gaze pinned me—too sharp, too still. Like she already knew the shape of the thoughts I was trying not to think.

Heat licked at my skin, and I didn’t dare look lower, didn’t dare want more.

Lily didn’t move right away. She just stood there, watching me like she was testing something—pushing something. And damn if I didn’t feel it.

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand over my jaw, keeping my expression unreadable. Controlled. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Enjoying what?”

I didn’t answer. Just let my gaze flick—only once—to the way the towel was barely hanging onto her frame.

Her smirk deepened. “Oh, don’t look so pained. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

My grip tightened around the arm of my chair. “Get to your room, Lily.”

She stepped away from the doorframe, slow and unhurried, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders. No hesitation in her step. But something flickered in her eyes when she passed. Water traced the hollow of her throat, trailing down her collarbone before vanishing beneath the fold of the towel like secrets slipping out of reach.

My patience stretched thin. Dangerously thin.

I stood, my chair scraping back against the floor, but she didn’t step back. Didn’t retreat.

Of course she didn’t.

Instead, she walked straight past me.

I blew out a tight breath, forcing my pulse to settle, only to realize where she was headed. The sideboard that housed my brandy.

She slowly poured herself a glass, then turned, making her way back toward the door.

I never knew true suffering until she reached the middle of the room and let the towel drop.

It hit the floor in a damp heap, and Lily didn’t even pause.

Every muscle in my body locked. The firelight painted her skin gold. . . the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, the⁠—

I forced my gaze to the fire. To anywhere but her.

She walked, bare and unbothered, straight out of the study, completely unaffected.

But I'd seen enough liars to recognize bravado when it walked past me naked. Whatever had happened today—whatever she and Adeline were hiding—this was her way of reclaiming control. Of reminding herself she still had power.

The fact that she'd chosen to wield it against me should have been insulting.

It wasn't.

Because I understood it. Understood her. And that understanding didn't protect me from the effect.

I was wrecked. Heat licked up my spine. My hands fisted at my sides, nails biting into my palms—anything to keep from reaching for her. I didn’t move. Didn’t trust myself too. I kept my eyes on the fire. At least until she reached the hallway, and she glanced back over her shoulder.

A slow, knowing smile curled at her lips. “Careful, Mr. Hawthorne. If you keep staring, I might start to think you like what you see.”

And then she walked out of view. The only thing remaining of her was the soft pad of footsteps up the stairs and the ache of want that remained.

Saints help me, I should have looked away. But I didn’t. This wasn’t a battle I was used to fighting. Not one with swords or strategy, but with restraint. With willpower.

And I was losing.