He reached behind her and extracted her hands from her jeans and pulled them to her thighs and slowly let her go. Imogen took off her glasses and closed the stems neatly. Ty took them from her and leaned back and set the glasses on his dresser. Then he stepped in front of her again, close, invading her space and making her so damn glad she was half-naked. She could feel the heat radiating off him, and she loved the way he was bigger than her, the way he could surround her. Without her glasses, he was a little fuzzy, but he was close enough that it was mild, and because of the soft candlelight of the room, she couldn’t see every detail of his face anyway. But she could delineate his basic form, his shoulders, his muscular chest, the small shock of hair that rose above his waistband, the shadow of his pelvis where his jeans hung low. She could see his expression clearly enough to read that it was mischievous, bold, confident.

Funny now that her hands were loose, she didn’t know what to do with them, and she knew that she was waiting for him to direct their seduction. She wanted that, craved that, was completely and totally aroused by the fact that she didn’t have to be in charge, that there was no fragile ego here to bolster.

Ty wanted to take and she wanted to be taken.

“After all your fussing and complaining, your hands are free,” Ty said, teasing her as he brushed his lips over the corner of her mouth, shifting so that his chest moved against hers. “So why did you want them out so bad? What do you want to touch?”

Ty could practically see the wheels turning in Imogen’s head. She wouldn’t answer impulsively and she wouldn’t avoid his question with a vague answer. Imogen would tell him precisely what she wanted, he had no doubt.

She said, “I don’t know. I want to touch everything and I’m debating where to start.”

He would pretty much give his bank account to have her go down on her knees and take his cock into her mouth, but he wanted her to take that kind of action on her own, not because he asked. “Well, while you’re deciding, I’m going to touch you again. I want to suck your sweet nipples again.”

Imogen made a delightful little sound of anticipation, her eyes wide, no lenses to obscure their deep, endless blue color from him. Ty kissed her, loving the softness of her lips, the honeyed tang of her tongue and mouth, his hands on her waist. She was thin and toned, but still soft, with small, perky breasts that fit nicely into his palms. He could spend all night running his lips over her neck, across her shoulders, down into the cleft between her breasts. Ty nuzzled her flesh, tasting the pureness of her skin, appreciating that she didn’t wear heavy lotion or perfume. Imogen just tasted like sweet woman, and she had the most amazing nipples.