The hotel room lights were low, softened by the golden glow of the lamp in the corner. Music pulsed quietly from a speaker, slow enough to make every move feel deliberate. Keegan stood a few feet away, rolling his shoulders as if to shake off the world outside.

He didn’t rush it. That wasn’t his way. He liked to take his time, to build the mood the way a storm gathers—quietly, until you realize you’re holding your breath. His jacket slid from his shoulders, and he caught it mid-fall, hanging it neatly over the back of a chair. Even that looked rehearsed, practiced, intentional.

When his gaze found hers, it stayed there. He didn’t smile, but the corners of his mouth curved like he was fighting the urge. The music’s rhythm guided his steps closer; his boots barely made a sound on the carpet.

Keegan stopped just close enough for her to feel the warmth of him, to notice the faint scent of cologne—spice and something darker beneath it. He reached up, touched the brim of an imaginary hat, and gave a mock bow.

“Evenin’,” he murmured, voice low enough to blend with the song. “Heard you wanted the full show.”

There was no rush, no vulgarity—just a man who knew how to make silence feel like the best part of the performance.