Warm.
That was the first word that came to mind.
Not the heat of the water or even his skin—but the warmth of his hands, steady against my waist as we moved in the shower together. No rush. No teasing. Just… closeness. Soft touches.
Whispered words I barely remembered, except that they made me feel like the center of gravity had shifted again—and I was now the place Adrien Walton came to land.
And now… this.
Me, seated on the dresser chair, wrapped in one of his ridiculous black robes—probably worth more than my rent—and Adrien standing behind me with a hairdryer.
His fingers were careful—too careful for someone who ran a billion-dollar empire like a war general.
I stared at our reflection in the mirror.
The most powerful man in the city… holding a pastel pink hair dryer like it was the sword of Excalibur.
"You know," I said, fighting a smile, "Didn't know you were embracing your inner soft girl.'"
He didn't blink. "Hold still."
"It's pink," I said, just to test him.
