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I wasn’t sure I’d make it back today.

Because once Kian had finally managed to herd the last goat, duck, and chaotic Bear cub out of his cabin, he’d started picking up the wreckage like it was just a normal morning.

Meanwhile, I bolted for the shower like a coward.

I needed a moment to breathe.

To think.

To not think about how hard I’d fallen for a man who’d turned my whole reality upside down and still somehow made me want to climb him like a tree.

But the second I stepped out of the bathroom, steam still clinging to my skin, I heard him behind me.

“Here.”

His voice was low.

All gravel and heat.

It slid across my damp skin like silk.

I didn’t even have to look.

My body already knew he was there.

Goosebumps erupted along my arms, down my spine, curling around my thighs like a promise.

I turned slowly, and yep, there he was.

Leaning in the doorway like sin in sweatpants, shirtless, barefoot, all thick muscle and ink and pure male hunger.

He held out some clean clothes towards me. A pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

“Figured you’d want something to put on.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, my voice breathier than I meant it to be.

But I couldn’t stop staring.

At the curve of his biceps, the way the black ink wrapped around his upper arm like a secret meant just for me.

His whiskey brown eyes glittered down at me, and I just took a moment to appreciate the size of him.

I studied the way his chest rose and fell, each breath controlled and coiled tight.

Kian was a work of art. He was raw male beauty, and muscle designed for a purpose, not just to preen.

He was holding himself back.

And God help me, I didn’t want him to.

His eyes met mine, dark and blazing, and his jaw clenched as he took a step closer.

“You keep looking at me like that, Mo Chroí,” he said, voice like a warning wrapped in a growl, “and breakfast’s gonna get cold.”

I swallowed. Hard.

His gaze slid over me, slow and possessive, like he was already undressing me with his eyes, even though I was still wrapped in a towel and dripping wet.