Ray's POV
I blinked awake to warmth. Real warmth—not the blanket kind, not even the emotional kind—but the kind that smells like expensive cologne and masculine danger.
And then I remembered.
The dream. No—the nightmare. And then him. His arms. His voice. The safety of it all.
Seb.
My heart did a little jump. Wait... where am I?
I sat up slowly—head fuzzy, eyes adjusting—and then instantly wished I hadn't.
Because there he was.
Sebastian Blake.
Just out of the shower.
Hair damp. Water dripping down the angles of his neck. And oh—oh lord—nothing but a towel wrapped low around his hips.
That was it.
Just.
A.
Towel.
And sweet merciful heavens, the man looked like a damn Greek god. Eight-pack abs. Veins. Shoulders that looked like they could bench press cars. Back muscles rippling like someone carved him from marble and said, "Yeah, that's enough masculinity for the whole world."
I stopped breathing. Literally forgot how.
My entire soul just yeeted out of my body and went to church.
He stood in front of the mirror, casually rubbing a towel through his wet hair, completely unbothered, like he didn't just cause my brain to turn into soup. And then—
Without even turning—without looking—he said:
"Like what you see, Ray?"
My soul died.
You know when your stomach drops and your face starts heating like a kettle left on high? Multiply that by ten thousand. That was me.
I did what any sane girl would do in my situation:
I made a panicked, squeaky noise and threw myself back into the sheets like a corpse in a grave.
"Wh-what?! I—I wasn't—I mean I didn't—I was just—WERE YOU BORN LIKE THAT OR IS THIS SOME SORT OF CURSE?!"
I heard a chuckle. A deep, smug, sexy-as-sin chuckle that did not help my condition.
"Don't die on me now, Ray," he said, amused. "You've seen blood and bruises, but me in a towel is your breaking point?"
"I hate you," I muttered into the pillow. "I hope your abs fall off."
He laughed again. And I died a second time.