“Let me,” he says, and strips the shirt off over his head in one fluid motion.
Oh wow.
I’ve seen him shirtless before. Multiple times. But somehow it hits different now. Maybe because he’s just carried my heavy suitcase upstairs and has a skin-stretching pump that makes his chest and biceps look even bigger than usual. Maybe because theafternoon sunlight is slicing through the window and turning his skin the sexiest shade of golden. Maybe because he’s looking at me like he wants to ruin me in the best possible way.
“So hot,” I mumble.
“We’rebothhot,” he corrects.
I reach for my own shirt, but he stops me.
“Let me,” he says again, and this time his voice is darker.
He unbuttons my shirt slowly, watching my face the whole time. When he’s done, he slides the shirt off and lets it pool onto the floor.
Then he unzips my linen pants with the same deliberate care.
By the time I’m standing there in just my bra and underwear, I’m already shaking.
“Cold?” he asks.
“Not even a little,” I reply.
His mouth curves. “Good.”
He kisses me again, deeper this time, but then pulls back slightly.
“I want to try something,” he breathes against my mouth.
“Again?” I feign annoyance, but inside I’m trembling with excitement.
“Amara,” he says simply.
I blow out a breath. “Fine. But if you produce handcuffs, I’m calling my lawyer.”
He grins. “Youarea lawyer.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. “No handcuffs. Just... this.”
He takes my hand and pulls me toward the floor-to-ceiling window. The one overlooking the private terrace and the ocean beyond.
“Stand here.” He positions me facing the window, and places himself behind me. His hands settle on my hips. “Can you see our reflection?”
I frown at the glass. “Not really? I just see ocean and—”
He reaches past me and taps something on the window frame. The glass shifts, darkening from clear to tinted. Suddenly I can see both of us reflected back: me, flushed and half-naked; him, bare-chested and looking unfairly good for someone who just carried my bags into his villa.
“You have smart glass.” Of course he does.
“Privacy feature.” His breath is warm against my ear. “No one can see in. But we can see us.”
“So you’re telling me you have billionaire mirror-windows specifically designed for—”
“Among other things.” His presses a kiss onto my neck. “Now watch. I want you to see what I see.”
His hands slide up my ribs, unhook my bra, and let it fall. I watch in the reflection as he cups my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, and I have to bite my lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.
“Don’t hide,” he says. “I want to hear you.”
“Corin, someone could see.”
