My eyes locked on hers, searching, and in them, I saw the truth. She wanted my thoughts clear, yes, but not just for my sake. For hers as well. Make up your mind, Reid, she’d said before. You can’t string me along forever, blowing hot one minute and cold the next.

Scooting to the edge of the couch, careful not to touch her, I said, “I want—I want you to—” But the words wouldn’t come. Honesty choked me. Honesty and fear. For how far I’d go, how far she’d go, how far we’d gone already.

She cocked her head, her gaze alight with fire. It threatened to devour us both. “Whatever you want, Reid.” Softer, she said, “Tell me.”

My fear melted at the depth in her voice. The pure, unbridled emotion.

Love.

I quickly shook away the thought. “Take off your pants.”

If my request surprised her, she didn’t show it. She didn’t hesitate. Slowly, torturously, she peeled her pants down her legs. Her eyes never left mine. Not until she’d stripped the leather fabric away completely.

My mouth went dry at the sight.

I’d been captivated by her collarbone. Now the whole of her bare legs stretched out before me. Still perched atop the table, the tips of her toes barely reached the floor. Her shirt billowed around her, however. It hid her from me. Resisting the urge to lean forward, I curled my fingers into the cushion and watched, silent, as she leaned back on her hands, swinging her feet as if bored.

She wasn’t bored.

“Now what?” she asked. The hitch in her voice revealed the lie. The breathlessness.

“Your shirt.”

“You’re supposed to tell me where you’d like to touch me.”

“I want to see you first.”

And I did. I wanted—no, needed—to see her like a starving man needed sustenance. Her eyes narrowed, but she gradually lifted the hem of her top, revealing more of that golden skin. Inch by torturous inch. After sliding it overhead, she tossed it in a pool at my feet. “And now?”

And now she was naked. Gloriously so. Though I longed to touch her, to reach out and trace the curve of her waist, I kept my hands fisted in the cushions. She wanted me to dictate each touch. She wanted to hear every word for what it was—a decision. Small decisions, yes, but decisions nonetheless. Honest ones. There could be no lies between us here. Not like this.

Not like this.

“Your thigh,” I said, unable to tear my gaze away from her ankles, her calves, her knees. Unable to think coherently, to speak more than a handful of syllables. Too enthralled to be embarrassed. “Touch it.”