I have to giggle at that. “Gregory, I’m literally wearing your jacket over another jacket over thermals that desperately need washing and my hair is in a braid that’s more rats’ nest thananything else and I probably smell like firewood and sweat and--”
He drops to his knees in front of me, cutting off my spiral. “You’rebeautiful. And you’remine. And I’m going to spend the nexthourproving it to you.”
Holy shit.
I might actually die.
Death by sexy billionaire seems like a pretty good way to go, honestly.
He peels off the Patagonia jacket, then my actual coat, then his...my... Columbia hoodie, until I’m just in thermals.
Then those come off, too.
Shirt first.
Then pants.
Until I’m sitting there in just my bra and underwear, the practical cotton variety that have seen way too many wash cycles.
“Your turn,” I whisper.
He strips off his own layers. The expensive cashmere sweater he’s been wearing for days. The thermal base layer underneath. His jeans. His thermal leggings. Until he’s wearing only his underwear and his chest is bare and I’m treated to the full view of those ridiculous muscles and that dusting of dark hair and the sharp V-cut of his obliques that I want to trace with my tongue all the way to his...
God, he’s so gorgeous.
My hands reach out automatically, tracing the hard lines of his abs. He sucks in a breath, his muscles jumping under my touch.
“Sorrel.” My name is a warning.
I glance up at him through my lashes, trying to look all innocent. “Yeah?”
“Lie back,” he orders.
Oh.
Okay then.
I do as instructed, sinking back into the blankets that smell like woodsmoke andus.
He moves over me, bracketing my body with his arms. He’s huge. His broad shoulders block out the light from outside. His biceps are bigger than my thighs.
Let’s just say I’ve never felt quite this small or quite this safe at the same time.
“I love watching you like this,” he murmurs, one hand sliding up to pin both my wrists gently above my head. The restraint is light but firm. “Knowing you choseme.”
The words hit me.
Because Ididchoose him.
Despite everything.
Despite every rational reason why I shouldn’t.
His free hand explores, trailing down my ribs, my waist, the curve of my hip. Every touch feels...claiming.
When his fingers hook into the waistband of my underwear, I instinctively lift my hips to help him slide them off. Then my bra follows.
And suddenly I’m completely naked beneath him while he’s still wearing briefs.
