But he doesn’t seem to notice at all. He pulls me to him and kisses me deeply, wrapping his strong arms around my back.
His lips are intoxicating, demanding yet tender, and I'm lost in the sensation. My hands slide up his chest, feeling the solid warmth beneath the damp fabric. I break the kiss just long enough to grasp the hem of his henley.
Our eyes lock as I slowly pull it upward, revealing inch by inch of his tight abs and his incredibly broad chest. He lifts his arms, helping me, and I toss the shirt aside.
"Oh," I whisper, unable to form a coherent thought.
His chest is a masterpiece—sculpted muscle under smooth skin marked with a few scattered scars that only enhance his raw masculinity. A light dusting of dark hair narrows as it trails down his stomach. I can't help but stare, my fingers hovering just above his skin, suddenly shy despite my boldness moments ago.
"Good god," I murmur, finally letting my fingertips trace the contours of his chest.
He pulls me close again, his bare skin warm against me through my damp clothes. The contrast makes me shiver and he notices immediately.
"You're freezing," he says, his hands rubbing my arms gently. "We need to get you out of these wet clothes."
There's concern in his voice, but also unmistakable desire. His fingers find the hem of my shirt, but before he pulls it up he asks permission. “Is this okay?”
"Yes," I breathe, lifting my arms. "Please."
His fingers brush against my skin as he grasps the hem, sending shivers across my body that have nothing to do with the cold. He pulls my shirt up slowly, his eyes never leaving mine until the fabric blocks our view.
I stand before him in just my plain beige cotton bra, suddenly self-conscious. It's a bit worn, with a tiny frayed thread at the strap—not the lacy, sexy kind I would have chosen if I'd known this morning that I'd be standing half-naked in front of Denton Blake tonight. But the way he's looking at me makes me forget all about my underwear choices.
His eyes travel over my exposed skin, lingering on the curve of my breasts, the dip of my waist. The hunger in his gaze makes my breath catch.
"You are..." he starts, his voice rough. "God, Holly."
He reaches out, his fingertips tracing a line from my collarbone down to the edge of my bra. His touch is feather-light but leaves fire in its wake. I shiver again, but not from cold clothes this time.
"You're still cold," he murmurs, misinterpreting my reaction.
Before I can correct him, he pulls me against his chest, his arms encircling me. He's so warm, like a furnace, and I press closer, seeking his heat.
His mouth finds mine again, more urgent now, and I melt into him. My hands explore the broad expanse of his back, tracing the ridges of muscle.
“Do you want to get out of the rest of your clothes?” I ask. “I can throw them in the dryer for you.”
As soon as I ask the question, I immediately realize how ridiculous it sounds. Like I'm just concerned about his wet clothes rather than what I actually want—which is him naked, completely. A blush creeps up my neck as I recognize the transparent pretense.
A knowing smile curves his lips. "That would be great," he says, voice dropping to a husky rasp that sends shivers across my skin.
He unfastens his jeans, pushing them and his boxers down in one fluid motion. I can't help but stare at him standing completely naked in my living room, all sculpted muscle and raw masculinity. My mouth goes dry at the sight.
"Your turn," he murmurs, the hunger in his gaze emboldening me.
I fumble with my own jeans, fingers clumsy with desire. He watches intently as I push them down along with my panties, his eyes drinking me in. With trembling hands, I reach behind my back and unhook my bra, letting it fall to the floor with the rest of our clothes.
I bend down to gather the wet clothes. "Let me just throw these in the?—"
But I don't finish the sentence. In one fluid motion, Denton steps forward and sweeps me into his arms. His mouth claims mine in a kiss so deep and consuming that all thoughts of the wet clothes leave my mind. I melt against him, my body molding to his, my arms wrapping around his neck.
My knees go weak as his hands slide down to cup my ass, and he lifts me off my feet. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, gasping at the intimate contact of our naked bodies pressed together.
"Which way?" he asks in my ear.
"First door on the right," I whisper, nodding toward the short hallway.
He carries me with sure steps, his muscles flexing beneath my fingertips. The intimacy of being carried naked in his arms, skin to skin, is overwhelming. I press my face into the crook of his neck and breathe in his intoxicating scent.
