Upon hearing that Peggy had been actively worried about him, Steve frowned, immediately feeling bad for having caused her distress. He hadn't meant to wander away from her, but he'd spotted Natasha, and then there'd been the thing with Clint, and at that point he'd just wanted to get back to the safety of his room. And even that plan had been thoroughly derailed by the elevator incident.
"I'm sorry," he said, genuinely apologetic, his regret reflected in his eyes. "I didn't mean to - I saw Natsaha, and Clint, and then there was a thing with Stark in the elevator - are you okay?"
Because she looked flustered, her cheeks dusted a light rose. He wanted to curve his hand to her cheek, smooth his thumb across her soft skin in reassurance, and in his current state, he couldn't think why that might not be the best idea. So he did precisely that, reached out and cupped her face in his hand, leaning closer as he did. The movement caused his towel to shift, brushing against the top of his thighs, and he froze because that was right, he was still dressed in nothing but a towel, the knot of it bunched tight in his fist. Steve glanced hurriedly down, to double-check that everything was still in its proper place, to make sure he was still covered up, since he was now halfway out into the hallway.
What he needed to do was take his hand away from Peggy's face, bid her goodnight, and then return to his still-running shower. That was the wise course of action, the polite thing to do.
What Steve actually did was stroke his thumb along Peggy's cheek once more, sneaking his fingers up behind her ear to tangle in her hair, still in its complicated updo. "You look beautiful in that dress," he murmured, eyes wandering slowly down the length of her body again. It was within the realm of inappropriate, maybe, but he didn't linger in any particular spot, the way a leer might. It was as if he was just taking in the whole of her, and very much appreciating what he saw. "I don't know if I told you that earlier, but I should have."