Ivan and Lydia sat together on his bed, a tray of breakfast between them. The air was quiet, almost peaceful, but that peace was only on the surface. Inside, Ivan's chest felt tight. His thoughts were far from calm.
Lydia ate in silence. She didn't fidget, didn't rush, didn't seem in any hurry at all. She moved with slow, measured grace, and that was exactly the problem.
Ivan couldn't take his eyes off her. The faint glow of her skin still carried the warmth of the bath. He could smell the faint scent of rose and jasmine oil that clung to her. His robe was on her now, but it was barely tied. The loose knot sat low, allowing the fabric to fall open just enough to show the curve of her bare shoulders. Her collarbone caught the morning light. His eyes trailed lower to the soft swell of her breast, the skin warm and smooth, rising gently with her breath.
