Then he took a step back and sat on the bed. He reached behind his head and yanked off his shirt in one clean motion.

All my reason and rational thought fled.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“Oh my” was all my brain could come up with to say. He was magnificent. Perfectly sculpted, only the medium was flesh instead of stone. My eyes traveled from his well-formed shoulders to his ripped stomach. My fingers itched to touch him, all those symmetrical ridges and planes.

I wondered whether I should send my handwritten thank-you notes for all his gloriousness to his parents, his personal trainer, the United States Army, or the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

Okay? I was going to throw him a ticker-tape parade. “Is it all right for me to touch you?”

“Please.” The way he said the word, with so much longing in his voice, the way he broke on that word with an emotion I couldn’t quite identify. “That’s entirely the reason I took it off. Since removing clothing indicates things moving to the next level.”

“That makes perfect sense,” I said, marveling at my ability to keep forming words.

“You know how much I enjoy being logical.”

“I feel like you’re using your Noah Douglas–ness against me. All your charm and strength and hotness.”

“Is it working?” he queried.

“Little bit. It feels like you’re not playing fair.”

“I’m not trying to play fair,” he said in a voice that made me utterly breathless, my pulse careening out of control.

So I did the only thing I could think to do. I sank down slowly next to him on the bed and reached out to feel his chest muscles. When my hand made contact with his skin, he made a strangled sound and then immediately looked embarrassed. “Sorry. For some reason that surprised me, even though I was anticipating it. It’s been a long time.”

“Longer than twenty-four years? Because that’s how long it’s been for me.”

“No, not that long. But it feels like I’ve been waiting an entire lifetime for you to touch me like this.”

That sent my blood pulsating in my ears, but I kept touching him, dragging my fingers across his skin. I watched the way his muscles responded to me with tiny twitches. He was both strong and soft at the same time, and I found the juxtaposition infinitely fascinating.

“I think I’ve created a monster,” he said, his wry voice low and delicious.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s an excellent thing.”

I moved up to his shoulders, which were sprinkled with moles and freckles. I found myself playing a very adult game of connect-the-dots with them. Then I leaned forward to kiss his corded muscles that contracted under my lips. I outlined the shape of his rock-hard biceps with my hands, trailing down to his forearms.