Sam opened his eyes and, without saying anything, lifted her up and stood. He settled her back in the chair and faced her, his hands on his waistband and his gaze never wavering from her. He pushed off his shoes, and with brisk, economical motions he undid the buttons of his trousers and let them fall, kicking them aside when they hit the floor. He stood before her in nothing but plain cotton drawers and a mismatched pair of socks, one black and one green. Alva smiled inside as well as out—was the man colorblind? It wasn’t as though he had to do his own laundry; presumably his socks were returned to him from the laundrywoman already matched. It took more than a casual amount of absentmindedness to achieve this result.

But he was pulling off the socks, and now his hands were at the band of his drawers and the time for lighthearted amusement was gone. He was looking at her with a teasing question back in his eyes, and it was her turn to hold her breath. She nodded, a punch of power shimmering through her once more, and he slid the drawers down and off. Samuel Moore was standing stark naked in the middle of her bedroom.

He was all gold planes and dark shadows, his phallus standing stiff and straight. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her life. And he was hers, if only for the night. She let her eyes linger, memorizing every inch of his body, so later, on the cold days and nights that lay ahead, she could pull out this memory and say, I lived.

Alva’s breath was coming fast, so fast it made her dizzy. And he just stood there, watching her. Letting her look her fill, a mixture of heat and want and fun in his eyes. There was something predatory in his gaze—like having a lion in her bedroom, one currently content just to play.

A lion she had absolutely no idea what to do with—but she was absolutely sure she wanted to do something with him.

She crossed her legs, enjoying the sensation of silk shifting over skin. “I want to know my options,” she said.

Sam grinned, and it turned out the only thing more alluring than a naked Samuel Moore was a naked and grinning Samuel Moore.

He liked her. Alva pushed the thought away, but it left an uncomfortable little glow in her chest. It wasn’t important that he liked her. It was important that he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, and he was naked, and they were about to make love.

“Makes sense,” he said. “With all this”—he gestured up and down his body—“on option, you naturally want to formulate a strategy.”