Disloyalty

- Closer -

That evening, we returned to the chalet, and the strange feeling in my stomach wouldn't subside. Every time I caught Andrew's eyes, I felt a flush of heat that had nothing to do with the cold outside.

It had gotten worse after the snowball fight, like it had unlocked something I'd been trying to suppress. The feelings I'd carefully buried were now breaking through, no matter how hard I tried to push them back down.

The frustrating part? It wasn't just Andrew. Henry was kind, funny, and so effortlessly charming—everything I should want in a guy. But why was it that every time I thought about him, Andrew's face pushed its way into my mind?

I sat down next to Andrew, pulling off my ski boots with a wince. My legs and feet throbbed, sore from the long day on the slopes.

"You should get in the hot tub," Andrew said, his voice low and almost casual, but there was something about the way his eyes flicked to me that made my stomach flip.

I looked up, caught off guard. "You have a hot tub?"

"Yeah, out on the deck," he replied. "You'll thank me later it works wonders after a day like this."

"Thanks for the tip," I mumbled, standing and heading upstairs.

Charlotte had insisted I pack swimwear, just in case, but of course, in my usual rush, I'd only brought the skimpiest bikini I owned—a deep emerald green set that left very little to the imagination.

I debated skipping the hot tub altogether, but the thought of sinking into warm water was too tempting to resist.

Wrapping myself in a towel, I slipped out of my room and tiptoed downstairs. If I moved quickly, maybe I could get outside without anyone noticing and enjoy some much-needed solitude.

The cold night air hit me as I stepped onto the deck, but I didn't care. My focus was on the steaming hot tub ahead. I dropped my towel, kicked off my sliders, and climbed in, sighing as the heat enveloped me. The jets worked magic on my sore muscles, and I tilted my head back, letting the stress of the day melt away.

I barely had a moment to relax before the door creaked open behind me.

I snapped my head up, and there he was—Andrew.

My breath caught, my chest tightening as Andrew stepped onto the deck. He stood there, framed by the faint glow of the deck lights, the cold air swirling faintly around him. 

His towel hung low on his hips, the edges of the fabric barely clinging to the sharp curve of his V-line. His torso was lean but incredibly defined, each muscle carved with precision, from the subtle rise and fall of his abs to the toned lines of his shoulders and arms.

His chest glistened faintly, the moisture catching the light and accentuating the taut planes of his body. The way his damp skin reflected the soft glow made him look almost ethereal, like something out of a dream.

 A few water droplets still clung to him, slowly trailing down, mapping the dips and ridges of his muscles in a way that felt both mesmerizing and unbearably intimate.

His hair was damp, tousled in a way that made him look effortlessly seductive. A few stray strands fell across his forehead, softening the sharp angles of his jawline. That jaw—strong, angular, and dusted faintly with stubble—was practically made to be admired.

I felt rooted in place, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it over the bubbling water. My entire body reacted, a warm flush spreading from my chest to my cheeks, only to be amplified by the heat of the hot tub.