The scrape of bare feet against the hardwood floor was the only warning she got.
Hazel heard him push off the kitchen island. His footsteps were quiet, unhurried, deliberate. Each step sounded like a countdown in her ears. Three. Two. One.
He stopped directly behind her.
He was so close that the ambient temperature of the air around her spiked. He didn't touch her—he rarely ever initiated actual physical contact, preferring to torment her with proximity—but he was close enough that she could feel the solid, immovable wall of his chest radiating heat against her back. The thin cotton of her oversized sleep shirt offered absolutely no barrier against the sheer force of his presence.
Hazel froze. Her hands stopped moving in the soapy water. Her breath hitched, catching painfully in her th
