Maybe he isn’t planning on staying. Maybe he’s going to crash in his friend’s room and leave me alone in here.

He steps to the small desk at the edge of the room and lifts up a white room-service menu. “Are you hungry?”

“No, not really.”

“I think you ought to eat. Stress is amplified if your stomach is empty.” With his back turned, he calls and orders what sounds like half the menu. After hanging up, he lifts the remote. “TV okay with you?”

I shrug. “Yeah, sure.” My voice comes out small.

He moves into the bed. We’re both sitting up, but my legs are tucked under the covers while his are over them. He’s purposely keeping his distance.

“You’re still in your jeans.” The words crack as they leave my mouth.

“Yep,” he states quickly, changing the channels. He stops at Forrest Gump.

I look at his legs. “You don’t have to keep them on if they aren’t comfortable.” I move an errant hair behind my ear.

“Yeah?” He stares at me as though he’s making extra sure it really is all right with me.

“Mmhmm.” I pray my hum comes off relaxed because, in reality, I’m anything but.

Swiftly hopping off the bed, he unbuttons his jeans. I want to shut my eyes from embarrassment because he’s just so crazy hot. But, when a man like Slade undresses and the lights are on, it’s a sin not to look. The last time we hooked up, it was so dark. Too dark.

He drops his pants like he’s just getting into his comfort zone, not like he’s trying to be sexy.

I want to ask, Who the hell has a body like this?

I have seen all sorts of good-looking men who are in shape. But, with Slade, it’s more than muscles. He’s strong because he protected our country. He didn’t lift weights to look good at the beach. His body is corded because it’s who he is as a man—his strength representing abilities that almost no one else on earth has. The man is a true hero. And, holy shit, does it bring his sex appeal up ten thousand notches. Maybe he is strong enough to avert his eyes while I’m nude. But I’m not.

I’m shaking, staring at him in a pair of boxer briefs as he moves to his duffel to grab his phone. I should turn around because I might pass out from this visual.

Oh, who am I kidding? I’m human.

My eyes? They’re peeled. The V—oh my God—those cut muscles in his abdomen pointing down into his underwear. The eight pack above it. The perfect smattering of chest hair. The riotous tattoos in all sorts of colors. The bone frog on his chest, signifying his Navy SEAL status. If I wasn’t already in a bed, I’d be searching for one.

He moves close to me and lifts my chin up, so our eyes connect. “You all right?” He looks like he wants to laugh out loud, but his eyes are still distant.