Gregory returned to the stranger, wiping his hands on his apron, his gaze still lingering over her striking appearance. She hadn't moved far from the fire, her body now warmed and glistening from the heat. He cleared his throat before speaking, trying to compose himself.
"Your room's ready, miss," he said, motioning for her to follow him. "If you'd come with me, I'll show you the way."
The stranger pushed herself away from the fire with a languid stretch, the motion causing her tight leather jacket to ride up just slightly, revealing more of her smooth, pale skin. Gregory's breath caught in his throat as she moved past him, her scent—a mixture of rainwater, leather, and something darker, muskier—lingering in the air.
He led her down the narrow hallway, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath their feet. The inn wasn't much to look at, but he had done his best to keep the rooms clean. Still, there was an air of faded glory about the place: peeling wallpaper, scuffed furniture, and an ever-present chill that even the fire couldn't chase away. As they reached the second floor, Gregory opened the door to a modest but tidy room at the far end of the hall.
The room itself was simple: a large bed with a quilted coverlet, a small dresser near the window, a long-case clock and a chair and table by the fireplace, where another fire had been started to chase away the cold. A large, ornate mirror hung on the wall opposite the bed, reflecting the dim, flickering light. Despite the inn's overall shabbiness, the room was cozy in its own way, filled with the scent of burning wood and lavender.
"This'll be your room for the night," Gregory said, stepping aside so she could enter. "There's a fire already going, and I'll bring up some extra blankets if you need 'em. We don't often get guests this time of year, so you've got the place pretty much to yourself."
The stranger surveyed the room with a casual glance, then turned back to Gregory, a sly smile playing on her lips. "It'll do," she said, walking toward the bed and tossing her bag onto it. She turned back to him, hands on her hips. "Where's my food? I'm starving."
Gregory hesitated, his eyes flicking from her face to the bed and back again. "Martha's still preparing it, miss. Shouldn't be long now. Where would you like it served? In the dining area downstairs, or—"
"In here," she interrupted, her tone making it clear she wasn't in the mood for negotiation. "I'll eat in my room."
Gregory nodded, slightly thrown off by her abruptness. "Of course, miss. Whatever you prefer." He paused for a moment, unsure whether to leave or stay. "You, uh, need anything else? Clothes to wash or—"
Before he could finish his sentence, the stranger's grin widened, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "As a matter of fact, yeah. These clothes are soaked through. I could use a wash."
Without another word, she reached for the hem of her tank top and began to peel it off in one slow, deliberate motion. Gregory's eyes widened as the wet fabric clung to her curves before sliding off completely, revealing a black lace bra that barely contained her breasts. She made no effort to hide what she was doing, her movements calculated, teasing.
Gregory felt his throat go dry as he watched, his heart thudding louder in his chest. His mind raced with indecent thoughts, thoughts he hadn't allowed himself to entertain in years. Her body was mesmerizing, every curve perfectly sculpted, her skin smooth and pale in the flickering light of the fire. The way she moved—slow, sensual, like a predator playing with its prey—made his pulse quicken.
He couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to touch her, to feel the softness of her skin beneath his calloused hands. He imagined those red lips against his, the heat of her body pressed against his as she undressed for him, not out of necessity but desire. For a brief, dangerous moment, he wondered if she knew exactly what kind of effect she was having on him—if she could see the hunger in his eyes, the way his hands twitched with the urge to reach out and—
"You enjoying the show, old man?"
Her voice cut through his fantasies like a cold knife. She had stripped off her mini skirt, fishnet stockings and boots now while standing before him in nothing but her bra and panties. Her eyes glinted with amusement, clearly aware of the effect she had on him. She tossed her clothes in his direction, the wet fabric landing in a heap at his feet.
"Show's over," she said with a smirk, placing her hands on her hips. "Now buzz off, will ya? I'll be waiting for my food."
Gregory blinked, snapping out of his daze. His cheeks flushed as he hastily bent down to scoop up her clothes, fumbling with the wet fabric. "R-right, miss," he stammered, backing toward the door, trying to avoid her gaze now, though his eyes still betrayed his lingering thoughts. "I'll, uh, I'll take care of these and get your food up here as soon as it's ready."
"Good," she said, turning her back to him and walking toward the bed with an exaggerated sway in her hips. She sat down on the edge, legs crossed, and reached for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand, lighting one with a careless flick of her lighter. "And maybe next time you can keep your eyes to yourself, yeah? Wouldn't want Martha getting jealous."
Gregory chuckled nervously, clutching the bundle of clothes to his chest as he backed out of the room. "No need to worry 'bout that, miss. Just here to help."
"Sure you are," she muttered under her breath, blowing a plume of smoke toward the ceiling.
Gregory finally managed to shut the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment as he caught his breath. His heart was still racing, his mind reeling from the sight of her stripping in front of him like it was the most natural thing in the world. He felt the weight of her wet clothes in his arms, the scent of leather and rain still clinging to the fabric. For a fleeting moment, he considered going back in, saying something—anything—to continue the interaction.
But he shook his head, pushing the thought aside. He had work to do. The stranger was nothing more than a paying guest, after all. He needed to keep things professional. Still, as he headed back downstairs to drop off her clothes and check on the meal, Gregory couldn't stop the images from flashing in his mind—her body, her confidence, the way she had looked at him like she knew exactly what he was thinking.
"Bloody hell," he muttered to himself as he descended the stairs. "What have I gotten myself into?"
As he passed through the kitchen, he caught Martha's curious glance. "Everything alright, Gregory?" she asked, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"Fine," he replied quickly, dropping the clothes onto a nearby table. "Just... just get the food ready. She wants to eat in her room."