Dane's POV:
She's in front of her mirror, dressing up.
What the fuck?
For a second I just stand there in the doorway, fingers still curled around the handle. The room smells faintly of soap and something floral she must have found in the cabinet.
A soft lamp glows near the mirror, casting warm light over her shoulders. She startles when she sees me in the reflection. Just a flicker. Her eyes widen, then steady.
She looks at me through the mirror but she says nothing. Not a word.
Her hair is semi-wet, dark strands clinging to her neck, leaving faint damp marks on the black Henley she's wearing.
It hugs to her skin like a wrapper, outlining every curve, every dip, every rise of her ribs when she breathes.
The fabric looks soft, worn in.
She looks ravishing.
Effortlessly so.
But for some reason I was expecting her to cry.
On her lap, the rabbit lies there. Snuggling against her, looking very jolly.
