[Meredith].
My cheeks still burned as Draven stepped back, giving me space.
But space didn't mean absence.
He leaned a shoulder against the doorway of the dressing room, arms crossed, watching me with that look—the one that slid over my skin like a touch. Not hungry, but claiming. Knowing.
I swallowed and stood up from the stool, then turned toward the wardrobe, trying to pretend my pulse wasn't tripping.
I reached for the long cream dress. The fabric was soft between my fingers, but my hands trembled slightly because I could feel his gaze burning into my back as I dropped the towel and began slipping the dress over my head.
Draven made a low, barely audible noise that made my breath catch.
I didn't turn or bother to comment because to me, that was a trap.
I just let the dress fall into place, smoothing it down my sides, forcing the heat in my cheeks to settle. Or at least calm enough for me to breathe normally.
