Leonard had forgotten his stamp in the bedroom, and now that he was done reviewing the files, he needed it.
So, he headed upstairs and pushed open the door—only to freeze.
Melisa stood inside, wrapped in nothing but a bathrobe, damp hair falling over her shoulders.
Before he could even process, a voice drifted from outside the hall.
"Brother? Are you here?" Tristan's questioning tone carried through the door.
Leonard's gaze had already caught a glimpse of the fair, bare patch of her collarbone. His ears turned red, and his hand shot out to close the door behind him with a sharp thud. He spun around, facing the door instead of her.
"Sorry!" His voice was strained, embarrassed.
Melisa's eyes widened. Heat rushed up her neck, and she hurried toward the bathroom, clutching the bathrobe tighter. But in her rush, her foot slipped.
"Ahh!"
She braced for the floor—but instead of hard impact, a steady arm caught her by the waist.
Her eyes flew open, colliding with Leonard's.
