He hissed out a breath, but he didn’t touch her. His shorts, already low on his hips, sank even lower. His bare back was sleek and strong, muscles rippling with his every movement. He joined her, reaching high on her wall as she painted low. A few seconds later, she felt his hand skim up her spine. When she straightened to look at him, her bra slid off.

She hadn’t even felt him unhook it. “Smooth,” she said, heart pounding.

His hungry gaze ate her up, from the tips of her hair, to her bared breasts, to her skimpy bikini panties. “Almost done,” he murmured, and dipped his roller into the paint.

She let out a shaky breath and went back to the wall. Topless. In just panties.

Never in her life had she done anything like this before.

Thanks to all his stretching, Pace’s shorts gave up the fight and slid down to his thighs. He kicked them off, leaving him in just a pair of black knit boxers with an interesting and mouthwatering bulge right in front.

By the time the last wall was done, Holly had a streak of paint on her shoulder, another between her breasts and belly, and one on her thigh. Pace had a long smear across his torso and abs, and another in his hair.

“Tell me we’re done,” she said, stepping close.

“Still always in a hurry?”

“Uh-huh.” She slipped her fingers into the low waistband of his boxers as she pressed her lips to the scar on his shoulder.

He took her roller from her and set it aside. “There’s no fire.” He bent his head to nuzzle at her neck, one hand skimming up to cup a breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple.

With a low hum of pleasure, she arched to give him more access. “I feel like I’m the fire.”

His soft laugh huffed against her skin, and the sound melted her bones.

“Slow,” he murmured. “We have a better chance of finally getting satisfied.”

The words penetrated her lust-ladened brain, and she went still. “I thought we were past the getting-this-out-of-our-system thing.”

“We are. Way past.” He made his way lazily to her shoulder, his hands skimming up and down her back, going lower each time until his fingers caught in her pale peach panties. “I like these.”

She relaxed into him. “Do you?”

“Oh, yeah.” He hooked his thumbs into the sides. “Every time you bent over to work the roller, they rode up. I got a lot of mileage out of that. But I’d like them even better . . .” He tugged them down to her thighs, and eyed the view he’d given himself with an appreciative groan. “Oh yeah. You should have painted like that.”

“I couldn’t have walked.”