Christ.
The way her baby blues linger there almost makes me abandon the whole plan.
I adjust myself slowly, dragging my palm over the front of my jeans while she watches.
Her breath catches.
Mine does too.
That little moment right there?
Yeah.
That makes the situation a hell of a lot worse.
But I said I was gonna do this for her, and I mean to.
So I drag in a breath, turn toward the sliding glass door, and start walking.
Halfway there, I glance back over my shoulder.
She’s still standing exactly where I left her, watching me like I’m something dangerous and delicious.
“Don’t forget your part, Honey,” I growl.
Then I step outside.
The evening air is cool against my skin, the kind of mountain breeze that carries pine and damp earth and the faint sound of the creek somewhere down the slope.
Normally, it clears my head.
Tonight it doesn’t do a damn thing.
Because the second I reach the chopping block, I glance back through the glass—and holy hell.
I nearly forget how to breathe.
My woman is standing there.
The woman of my dreams.
The one I’ve been fantasizing about for longer than I care to admit.
She is right in front of that big window.
Her eyes locked on me like I’m the only man on earth.
And she’s taking off her clothes.
Slow.
Unhurried.
Like she knows exactly what it’s doing to me.
A rough laugh leaves my throat.
Who the hell knew Kelly McCrae had this kind of fire in her?
