**MILA'S POV**
I make it three steps out of the equipment room before I hear the door open behind me.
"Mila."
Jax's voice is low. Rough. It stops me mid-stride.
I don't turn around. "You need to get dressed. Your team is waiting."
"Let them wait."
His footsteps echo on the concrete floor. Closer. Closer.
"Jax—"
"I'm not finished talking to you."
I finally turn.
He's standing in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame. The white towel hangs low on his hips. His chest is bare.
I've seen it before — glimpses, flashes. But not like this. Not up close, in the dim light, with no one else around.
The tattoos are everywhere. Dark ink swirling over his pectorals, down his ribs, across his shoulders. Waves crashing against a rocky shore. A lighthouse standing against a storm. A co
