His voice was a low, gravelly vibration that sent a shiver straight down her spine. It was devoid of all warmth.
Kira swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on a painting on the wall. She couldn't look at him. Not yet. "I... I need water. I'm thirsty."
"There is no need to leave."
She finally turned, and the breath left her lungs in a sharp gasp. Derek stood there, steam still clinging to his skin. He wore nothing but a white towel wrapped low around his hips. His hair was damp, falling over his forehead in dark, messy clumps. Without the suit, without the armour of his status, he looked even more imposing. His chest was broad, mapped with the faint white lines of old scars and the hard, corded muscle of a predator.
He pointed to a small table near the window. A crystal jug filled with water sat there, alongside a pitcher of dark red juice and two glass tumblers.
"You can have as many glasses as you require," he said, his amber eyes tracking her every movement.
