Chapter 2

The following Wednesday, dusk painted the sky in hues of lavender and gold. Once again, I found myself in my chair with a glass of wine in hand, jazz humming softly in the background.

A familiar flicker of movement at the window drew my attention.

Monique sat at her desk, her peach-coloured skirt draping elegantly over crossed legs. An off-white hoodie covered her upper body, the neckline loose enough to reveal the graceful curve of her collarbone. A floral scarf adorned her dark curls, adding a touch of whimsy to her already effortless beauty.

She held a pencil between her fingers, twirling it in lazy circles, her eyes distant as if lost in thought.

I had not turned on a light; the dimness of the room concealed me. She couldn’t possibly know I was watching.

Could she?

As if in response, she stood and reached for her phone, angling it toward the mirror. A selfie, I assumed.

She shifted, posing slightly, tilting her chin, her body twisting just enough to let me see the way her skirt hugged her curves. When she turned fully away from the mirror, the fabric stretched taut over her bottom, sculpting it into something almost indecently perfect.

I felt myself stiffen beneath my slacks.

I tore my gaze away, ashamed of my reaction. What the hell was I doing? Watching her like this—desiring her like this—it was wrong. She was young. She was off-limits.

I raked a hand through my hair, inhaling deeply, trying to quell the heat rising in my veins. When I finally gathered myself enough to look back, she was gone.

With a heavy sigh, I drained the last of my wine and switched off the music. It was time for bed.

Then my phone vibrated. The name on the screen made my stomach drop.

Monique.

My fingers hesitated before tapping the message open.

“I don’t mind you watching.”

Attached were several images. My breath caught as I scrolled through them. Each shot was precisely what I had just witnessed—her in front of the mirror, her body twisting, her lips curling into a subtle smirk.

Then, the final image.

She stood with her bare back to the mirror, her skirt pooled at her feet. Her head was turned just enough for me to see her profile, her dark eyes watching the reflection of her own nude form. One hand held her phone, while the other ... was blowing me a kiss.

I swallowed thickly, my body taut with desire.

Monique had seen me.

And she wanted me to see her.