W-what?
I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t even blink. I was getting a one-man strip showallfor myself.
The flannel fell open, revealing a white undershirt stretched tight across his chest. He shrugged the flannel off and tossed it onto a nearby rock. Then he gripped the hem of the undershirt and pulled it over his head in one fluid motion.
My mouth went dry.
Holy shit.
His chest was broad and thick with muscle, covered in a dusting of dark hair that trailed down over abs that looked carved from stone. His shoulders were massive, arms corded with the kind of strength that came from real work, not gym machines.
A few scars marked his tanned skin. He was built like a man who could chop wood all day and still have energy left over to throw me over his shoulder and carry me to bed.
His hands went to his belt buckle, and I forgot how to swallow.
Chapter 5
Grayson
Amelia looked like she was about to come undone.
I bit back a smile as I worked my belt buckle loose, watching her from the corner of my eye.
Her cheeks had flushed pink, her lips parted slightly, and those blue eyes of hers were tracking every movement I made like her life depended on it.
Out here in the wilds of Colorado, stripping down to your underwear for a dip in a hot spring was about as remarkable as putting on boots in the morning.
Everyone I knew did it.
Hell, half the time we didn’t even bother with underwear if the group was all men. But Amelia looked like she was watching something downright scandalous unfold before her eyes.
I tugged my jeans down over my hips, not trying too hard to hide the half-hard state of my cock beneath my boxer briefs.
Let her look. Let her seeexactlywhat she was doing to me just by standing there with her flyaway hair and her soft curvesand those eyes that seemed to widen over every inch of skin I revealed.
Kicking off my boots, I stepped out of my jeans, tugged my socks off, and straightened up.
“Your turn.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed hard.
I let out a small, husky laugh at the sight of her struggling, then grabbed my jeans and walked to the water’s edge, giving her space.
The Glock was a familiar weight in the back pocket, and I pulled it free before dropping the denim on a flat rock beside the spring. The gun went on top, within easy reach.
Then I stepped into the water.
The heat hit me as I sank into the hot spring. It seeped into muscles that had been aching for days, loosening knots that had been stubbornly hanging on.
That search and rescue mission three days ago had done a number on me. Some weekend hiker had taken a bad fall on the north ridge and shattered his leg in two places. I’d helped carry him out on a stretcher for four miles over rough terrain, and my shoulders still hadn’t forgiven me for it.
I sank deeper and groaned, letting the mineral-rich water work its magic. The warmth spread through my back, my arms, my thighs. Steam rose around me, carrying the familiar faint sulfur smell of a spring fed from deep underground. I closed my eyes and let out a long breath.
Behind me, I heard the soft rustle of clothes being removed.
I kept my back turned.
It was the right thing to do, giving her privacy to undress without my eyes on her. Even if every instinct in my body was screaming at me to turn around and drink in the sight of her.
