Maybe not, but he could imagine it. Of all Ruby’s perfectly formed body parts—and there were a lot to choose from—her ass was the one that intrigued him the most. She was a highly active woman, juggling her career and dog training and the Wilson brothers as though they were nothing, and she had the build to prove it. He’d already imagined what it would feel like to grab her by the hips and hold her close; adding the image of black lace was all that was needed to send him over the edge.

“Please don’t,” he begged. His hand clutched just above her knee, his fingers making soft impressions in the sleek expanse of flesh he encountered there. “I don’t have the energy to appreciate them properly. All you’re doing right now is torturing me.”

Her legs fell open a fraction. It wasn’t enough to fully widen her thighs and give him access to the warmest, most enticing parts of her, but it was close enough to count.

“I mean it,” he said, sitting up enough so that he could run his hand further up her thigh. She hissed and sank deeper into the couch cushions to give him better access. “Ruby, I’ll die if I hear anything more about lace or how it looks on you.”

Either she didn’t hear him or she didn’t care, because she gave a low chuckle and continued taunting him.

“It barely counts as underwear, really. There’s just enough fabric to frame my ass but not enough to cover it. If you were to slide your hand up a few inches, you’d see what I mean. Just a wisp, a hint, a delicate vee shape that highlights the curves of my—”

His fingers dug deeper. “Not curves. No curves. I’m begging you.”

She scooted her body closer to his. “So many curves, Spencer. Round, taut ones. Soft, supple ones. Ones that jiggle when you smack them.”

Spencer groaned. The interest that had been stirring inside him was now fully shaken. Being near this woman always made him acutely aware of what his blood was doing and where it was going, but actually having her in his lap, her legs spreading open for him, his fingers so close to—

His fingers stopped. “Wait a minute. That doesn’t feel like lace.”

Ruby snapped her legs together in an attempt to prevent him from making a further exploration between her thighs, but it was too late. He’d already reached fabric and the warm, intoxicating heat of her. All she was doing was trapping him in place. He twitched his fingers against the gusset of her panties.

“Uh, I’m no expert, but that feels like cotton.”

“It’s cheap lace,” she protested but with a laugh in her voice. “I never said they were expensive. I like to make them easy to rip off.”