In the bathroom, I did a quick wash of my face, moisturized and brushed my teeth. Done, I took in my pink cheeks, my swollen lips and the way my nipples pebbled through the thin cotton.

Oh dear sweet Jesus—I really hoped he liked what he saw.

Before I could grow too insecure with my faults, the rolls above my hip bones or the cellulite that appeared on my ass and upper thighs when I looked at my profile’s reflection in the mirror, I flipped off the bathroom light, inhaled a deep, settling breath and opened the door to my room.

Kane’s bedroom door was closed, but a light shone beneath.

I stepped that way with my knees wobbling, my pulse racing, excitement and fear tripping over themselves in my veins.

It was possible when he said we’d pick this up when we were both ready he meant him and not me, or how tired I was.

My hand shook as I grabbed the French handle and pressed down. The door opened with a click that echoed in his room and as I stepped in, I gasped.

His bedroom was enormous. The same dark, gleaming gray wood floors that were downstairs were laid in a herringbone pattern across his floor. A dark gray rug took up much of the space, and several feet around his bed. A black, four-poster bed took up the center space in his room and outside his room, I caught sight of the pale, twinkling lights on the golf course and the glow of the moon.

I’d done his laundry while he was gone, tried to help out and clean his house, but I’d resisted the urge to enter his bedroom, his private space, and I was feeling no more confident now as I surveyed the room.

There was rich, dark grays and blue artwork on the walls above the bed but before I could inspect them too closely, a door to my right clicked, a bright flash of light lit the room before Kane stepped out in nothing but white boxer briefs that hugged his ass and showed off his own tan before he flipped the switched, bathing us both in a pale light from a bulb fixture above his bed and the light from the hallway.

His head jerked, surprised, and he turned toward me.

Dark eyes flared and widened and he blew out a breath. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m not tired anymore.”

“Emmersyn.” He spoke my name like a wish and a curse.

And oh shit. Maybe he really wasn’t ready for this. For me.

He moved toward me, sleek as a panther and all muscle with languid steps. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, highlighting his bricks for abs and the muscles at his sides. As he did, he grew harder, longer, until an undeniable bulge was pushing against his boxer briefs, outlining all of him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he admitted, a softly spoken promise held tight by the tension in his tone.