When Mark steps back, I almost cry at the loss of contact.
Reaching one arm over his shoulder, he quickly tugs at his shirt and removes it in one fluid motion.
My mouth feels drier than the sand in any desert as my eyes roam his body.
Holy fucking shit. Mark’s been holding out on me.
How on earth has he gotten so much better-looking with age?
If I thought he was hot before, he’s like a fucking Greek god now.
His muscles are sculpted to perfection. A smattering of dark hair covers his chest, and oh, my freaking god, where did that V come from? He never had anything like that when we were kids.
I’ve never seen anything like this other than on cover models or in the movies. This doesn’t happen in real life.
We’re freaking forty-eight. Isn’t he supposed to have a dad bod or something like that? It takes everything in me not to stick out my finger and poke him, just to ensure I haven’t completely conjured him in my mind.
For fuck’s sake, I wouldn’t put it past my imagination.
After all, he’s all I’ve been able to think about for days.
When my eyes drift down to peruse the large bulge in his pants, the loud clearing of his throat fills the room. “Eyes up here, sweetheart.”
The old me would have been embarrassed to be so blatantly checking him out.
But not this time.
I’m proudly enjoying every moment.
Purposely, I take my time dragging my eyes to his.
It’s obvious he’s worked hard on his body, and I’m not ashamed that I’m simply appreciating his efforts.
When our eyes finally meet, I’m not prepared for the heat searing at me.
The desire and need in that one look nearly incinerates me on the spot.
Who knows how long I stare, but eventually, an uneven grin forms on his lips as he reaches for the hem of my shirt.
“If you’re gonna keep lookin’ at me like that, there’s no way I’ll be able to take things slow.” His sexy voice is low and gravelly and does something to me that I can’t quite explain.
“Who said we need to take things slow?”
As if I haven’t just poured gasoline on this fire between us, I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head with ease.
I’ve never been more thankful for stopping in that French lingerie shop on my last trip to Paris than I am in this moment. If I thought Mark’s gaze was heated before, his dark hazel eyes might melt my royal-blue satin two-piece set without even touching me.
A guttural moan escapes his lips as he reaches for my hip and tugs me closer. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Faye, if you keep teasing me like that.”
“Oh, I’m not teasing,” I promise.
Leaning down, he brushes a kiss against my swollen lips. “Good. Now… let’s get these pants off you so I can see if my hunch is right.”
“What’s that?” I ask, having no idea where he’s going with this.
Giving my ass a quick squeeze, he smirks. “I’m dying to know if you’re still in the habit of wearing matching underwear.”
“Guess you’ll have to see for yourself,” I tease, untying the drawstring of my joggers.
