Zee.
The way her hair fell over her shoulder. The soft lilt of her voice. The look in her eyes when she told him she wasn’t used to being believed.
And worse—
That damn tank top she wore to bed. His mind replayed the way the strap slipped down her shoulder on a loop that left him grinding his teeth, and his cock hard enough to pound nails.
He scrubbed a hand over his face and stared at the dark ceiling.
He was too old for this. Too damn experienced to be caught off guard by a woman.
His body didn’t seem to care.
The bedroom door clicked open. Every muscle in his body went rigid. The soft sound of bare feet crossed the floor.
Church didn’t move or even breathe too deeply. He could feel Zee moving through the space by the way the air seemed to stir.
Then she cracked open the mini fridge, and he saw her in the low light. She wasn’t wearing the tank top tonight.
God help him, it was so much worse.
She stood there in a short nightgown, the soft fabric brushing mid-thigh. His gaze shot to her shoulders, only to see that the straps were firmly in place this time, not slipping. Not tormenting the hell out of him.
She bent slightly to reach inside the fridge for a bottle of water.
Church’s grip tightened on the edge of the couch.
Jesus.
The curve of her body, the line of her back, the way the fabric stretched tight around her hips—
He dragged a breath through his teeth and looked away. But too late—the damage was already done.
He’d already been hard, but now he was like steel, his cock surging with a mind of its own, and the only thing keeping him on the sofa was sheer discipline.
He bet that his first division commander never knew his training would teach a man the kind of control it took to resist a gorgeous woman standing feet away in a nightie.
Zee straightened and turned.
Their gazes met.
Church didn’t close his eyes or fake sleep.
He pushed himself upright slowly, dragging a hand down his face.
“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was rough.
She twisted off the bottle cap. “Not really,” she echoed the words he’d thought minutes before.
She drifted over and sat beside him, close enough that the heat of her skin blasted through his sweats.
“I can’t shut my brain off.” Her soft voice sent sparks through him.
He turned his head toward her. “Want me to help?”
He meant it one way. Or maybe he didn’t.
The moonlight stroked across her features, turning her skin to glass and highlighting the bow of her full upper lip.
