The Unexpected Guest
It was just after midnight when Claire heard the knock.
The storm outside had been howling for hours, wind shaking her old country house and rain tapping like impatient fingers against the windows. She hadn’t expected visitors — not tonight, not ever, really. She lived far enough outside of town to enjoy the silence. That was the point.
Still wrapped in a silk robe, barefoot, her glass of red wine untouched on the coffee table, she padded to the door.
She opened it slowly.
And there he stood — drenched from the rain, shirt clinging to his chest, breath visible in the cold. Dark, disheveled hair. Sharp jawline. Those intense eyes.
“Car broke down,” he said, voice gravelly, laced with frustration and something else… a quiet hunger. “No signal. Saw your lights.”
Claire nodded, heart fluttering with a strange mix of caution and curiosity. “Come in,” she said, stepping aside.
The stranger entered, water dripping from his jacket, eyes scanning the room — her bookshelves, the flickering fireplace, her silhouette.
“I’m Claire,” she offered.
“Ethan,” he replied, pulling off his jacket, revealing a sculpted form beneath his soaked white shirt. “Thanks for letting me in. It’s… warm in here.”
She noticed the way his gaze lingered on her — the curve of her collarbone, the subtle tie of her robe.
“You should dry off,” she said, voice soft, deliberate. “There’s a towel in the bathroom. Or… I could put your clothes in the dryer.”
He met her eyes — the tension electric.
“I’ll dry off here,” Ethan said, slowly peeling the wet fabric from his torso. Claire tried to look away. She didn’t.
His skin glistened from the rain, and the firelight painted gold across the ridges of his muscles.
“You live out here alone?” he asked.
“I like the quiet.”
He stepped closer. “It doesn’t feel very quiet right now.”
Claire’s breath hitched. The silence was no longer peaceful — it was charged, expectant.
Neither of them spoke as he reached for her hand — tentative, gentle. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she stepped closer, robe slipping just slightly from her shoulder.
Rain drummed harder outside.
Inside, heat built slowly — not from the fire, but from the space between them, closing inch by inch.
“You’re not what I expected tonight,” she whispered.
He leaned in. “Neither are you.”
And when their lips met, it wasn’t rushed. It was slow. Deliberate. A meeting of strangers suddenly far too familiar. His hands on her waist. Hers in his hair. The storm, for a moment, became a distant heartbeat as their bodies pressed together in the glow of firelight.
The unexpected had arrived… and neither of them wanted it to end.
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