For one long, breathless moment, neither of them moved.
The air seemed to stop — thick, still, heavy with something Clara couldn't quite name. The towel hit the floor with a soft thud that sounded deafening in the silence.
Nathaniel froze in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, eyes wide. Whatever reason he had for barging in died right there on his lips. His gaze — sharp, startled, confused — flicked to her face, then lower.
Clara's breath caught. Heat crawled up her neck. Every inch of her skin felt like it was on fire under his stare.
He blinked, realizing, and his jaw tightened. He tore his gaze away, dragging in a rough breath, the kind that sounded like control — barely hanging by a thread.
"Clara—" His voice was low, strained, almost a rasp. "I—You didn't answer. I thought something happened."
