A Fleeting Touch

Concerned, Sloane had gone downstairs to check on him.

“Why a shower at this hour?” she asked, frowning at the dripping corridor tiles.

“I had a nightmare and was soaked in cold sweat, so I rinsed it away,” he answered.

He moved to step around her, but she caught his sleeve. “Wait.”

He halted. She slipped back into the bath and returned with a towel.

“Your hair’s still wet. The night air is heavy,