“What should we do about that?” he growled against my ear, his breath soft and hot.
I shifted, twisted out of his hold, then scooted back on the bed.
“We should get naked.”
He smiled and shucked out of his flannel shirt and T-shirt in one smooth over-the-head move. I tried to peel my gaze away from his bare chest.
Okay, no, I didn’t.
I’d seen him naked. Recently, as a matter of fact. But here, in the butter-soft light of the candles, the hard muscles of his wide shoulders, thick chest with a dusting of dark hair, and flat stomach were even more defined.
He dropped his shirts to the floor. And crawled across the bed after me, then over the top of me, one hand braced on both sides of my shoulders.
We were so close, I could see the pulse of his heartbeat at his throat, but we weren’t touching.
He was watching me, waiting.
I reached up, stroking his left shoulder where the tattoo of Leonardo da Vinci’s hand capped it. I traced the bold lines of the words there and bit at my bottom lip. The art was stark in sepia brown against his tanned skin. Simple and beautiful on its own—on him, incredibly sexy.
I pressed my other hand—only my fingertips—on his other shoulder, and then dragged my fingers down the warmth of his hard chest, seeking the tight muscles of his stomach. His breathing hitched, and he held it as I explored. When he took his next breath, it shook a little.
I loved that I could make him feel that way. Loved that just a simple touch from me could make him tremble.
“Delaney,” he said. I didn’t know if it was question or request. I was focused on his other tattoo, the artist’s compass and stars that spilled over the edge of his hipbone.
I wanted to put my mouth on it. I shivered a little, but not from the cool of the house. I felt like I was fevered, burning.
I watched Ryder’s eyes as I slid my fingers into the waistband of his jeans.
He exhaled, almost a moan, and his eyes fluttered closed as his throat worked to swallow.
I unbuttoned his jeans and then pulled the zipper.
His eyes snapped back open as my fingers brushed softly over his boxers.
“Are you ready for this?” I asked him with a low burr in my voice.
He was firm and hard beneath my hand. I knew what his body wanted, but that wasn’t what I was asking him.
“Are you?”
The moment stretched. Neither of us moved. The only motion in the room was the shifting of candlelight swaying in the shadows. I thought I saw something change in his gaze. Something that looked like worry or guilt. His mouth half opened, as if he were trying to decide if he should tell me something.
Then he smiled and that fleeting look was gone. His smile was soft, and honest, and said more than words ever could.
Don’t make me regret this, Ryder Bailey. Please don’t break my heart.
I draped my arms over his shoulders, holding the back of his neck with one hand, the other hand dragging up into his hair.
He closed the very short distance between us, his hands skating under my shirt and across my ribs and then around to my back and hip as he pulled me against him.
Then he eased me down and kissed me again, lips catching, teeth nibbling at the corner of my mouth, tongue dragging and licking. I bit his bottom lip gently but firmly to get his attention, and he grunted. “Yes?” he said against my mouth.
“Strip.”
I felt his smile against my lips. He rose up on his knees above me.
“Is this a strip search, officer?” Mischief sparkled in his eyes. “Are you going to read me my rights?”
