“I’m air-drying.”
The rumble of his seductive baritone does things to me no man’s voice has any business doing. “Go air-dry in your room.”
My house has three bedrooms. I gave him one. He can damn well ‘air-dry’ his perfect ass in there. It’s bad enough I’m going against sound logic by allowing a stranger in my home, but now he’s walking around butt-ass naked. It’s too much.
“Why would I do that when you’re down here?”
“Because you’re nude, Rhys,” I point out matter-of-factly, as if my hormones haven’t spiked so high I can launch an ovary out of my vagina like a cannonball.
“I ask again, why would I go upstairs when you’re down here?”
Apparently, logic—or, rather, manners—is missing with this one.
“In the real world, there’s a thing called decency. People don’t prance around naked in front of each other.”
“I’m not prancing, Charlotte, and you’re notpeople. You’reperson.Myperson.” Oh, gawd, I sense him get closer. His body heat radiates around me. Also, the way he rolls my name off his tongue… It’s sublime. Sends a warm flood from my flushed cheeks right to the juncture of my thighs, instantly soaking my panties. His touch is achingly gentle when he curls his fingers around my wrists. “Look at me.”
I shake my head. “Not until you put on some clothes.”
“Charlotte, look at me.” Again, I shake my head, but his gruff voice is a gentle coax when he says, “This won’t work if you refuse to trust me.”
Trust? That’s a big ask.
But isn’t he the one crouching in front of me, fully exposed and completely vulnerable?
And just like that, I get why he’s naked. He’s not ‘air-drying.’ He’s not being sexual. Rhys Ravenstone bared himself to reduce his power. He made himself smaller the only way he can to make me larger. This beast of a man is on his knees, stripped raw at my feet.
I allow him to peel my hand away from my face, and when I crack open my eyes, all I see is him. Everywhere. Nothing else but him. His beautiful face. His large body. And those fathomless, dark eyes. That razored gaze slices through flesh and bone to cut right down to my soul. Unnerved, afraid he can read my thoughts as if they’re etched across my flesh like the tattoos decorating his. I flick my eyes over his face, admiring his full, sensual lips. The subtle cleft of his chin is the ideal accent to a chiseled jawline. A noble Greek nose sits between sharp cheekbones. Mine may have been the finger that tapped on the app, but an artisan pieced the parts together. Created a masterpiece of flesh and bone.
“You can’t be real,” I whisper.
Rhys takes my right hand and presses it to his pec. His heart beats steadily against my palm. “Do I feel fake?”
With a slow shake of my head, I say, “No.”
His lazy grin sends a silly little punch to my gut. “Because I’m alive, Charlotte.”
I slide my palm along his smooth pec. Curl my fingers around his left shoulder, gripping him. Water droplets from his wet hair drip onto the top of my hand. “I still don’t understand how you can be here.Whyyou’re here. Why me?”
Rhys trails his knuckles down my cheek, and it’s the most tender way a person has ever touched me. During the years Jason and I were married, he never—ever—caressed me. Rarely held my hand. Never hugged me. But this powerful man is touching me as if I’m delicate enough to shatter. And okay, I made him this way, but he said he has free will. He doesn’t have to be here. Can leave any time he wants. He doesn’t even have to like me.
So…
Why is he gentle? Why does he want to be here when he can leave, go anywhere, and explore this world for six days? “You’re exactly the sort of person who deserves a little magic, Charlotte.”
“And what sort of person am I?”
“The damaged,” he says simply, adding, “the wronged and the wounded.”
Well.
He certainly got that right.
Something about hearing it stated so bluntly…stings…and snaps me right out of the moment. “Please go put clothes on before you catch pneumonia.”
July is two days away, and tonight, there’s zero breeze blowing in through the open windows. It’s stuffy and humid, and thelast thing this man will catch is a chill. And even if he did, he’ll be gone in a week, back inside the app or wherever.
But Rhys stands, and again, I squeeze my eyes closed, grimacing at the sight of his extremely well-endowed pierced penis—which is face-level to my eyeballs when he stretches to his full height.
