Chapter 68

Mirabelle was holding up the hem of her nightgown with two fingers, her steps careful and silent. No shoes. Just bare feet on cold black stone, each step like a spotlight in the dark. Her skin looked warm against all that sleek obsidian. Pale. Almost glowing. Ashton’s gaze tracked up the curve of her calves to the back of her thighs, then higher, past the sway of fabric. The dress clung to her hips and draped off her waist like it had been cut for temptation. Through the thin material, he caught the outline of her spine, the dip where her back met her hips, the faintest tease of her— Ashton swallowed hard. Then shut the door. Fast. Quiet. Teeth clenched, jaw locked, forehead against the wood. ‘Fucking pervert,’ he muttered under his breath. He was supposed to be a grown man, not some hormonal teen hiding behind doors to stare at a woman’s arse. He didn’t move. Just stood there, breathing like he’d run a mile, while she padded around downstairs. Eventually, he heard her coming back up,