"Molly dear, go drag that idiot son of mine down here," Mrs. Vance said.
Molly climbed the stairs and knocked on Miles's door. She waited. No answer.
She stepped inside. The room was empty. She was heading toward the study when a sound behind her made her turn.
Miles had just walked out of the bathroom—
Water still dripping from his body, his usually immaculate hair falling damp across his forehead. Droplets traced a path down from his hairline, sliding over his shoulders, trailing along the defined lines of his chest and abdomen before disappearing beneath the towel wrapped low around his hips...
Molly had always known he had a good body—the kind that looked lean in clothes but revealed solid muscle underneath.
Especially that waist. So narrow.
When her eyes met Miles's, his brows and lashes still damp with steam, her heart began to pound involuntarily.
That face, that body... never having slept with him really was a waste.
Molly averted her gaze, embarrassed, not wanting to come across like some kind of pervert.
"Your mom's calling for you."
She turned to leave, but a cool, low voice came from behind her. "Wait."