o relaxed in sleep, so utterly beautiful.
He looks so young, so relaxed in sleep, so utterly beautiful.
I can’t quite believe this Adonis is mine, all mine.
Hmm . . . Reaching up, I tentatively stroke his chest,
running my fingertips through the smattering of hair, and he
doesn’t stir. Holy cow. I can’t quite believe it. He’s really
mine—for a few more precious moments. I lean over and
tenderly kiss one of his scars. He moans softly but doesn’t
wake, and I smile. I kiss another and his eyes open.
“Hi.” I grin at him, guiltily.
“Hi,” he answers warily. “What are you doing?”
“Looking at you.” I run my fingers down his happy
trail. He captures my hand, narrows his eyes, then smiles a
brilliant Christian-at-ease smile, and I relax. My secret
touching stays secret.
Oh . . . why won’t you let me touch you?
Suddenly he moves on top of me, pressing me into the
mattress, his hands on mine, warning me. He strokes my
nose with his.
“I think you’re up to no good, Miss Steele,” he
accuses but his smile remains.
“I like being up to no good near you.”
“You do?” he asks and kisses me lightly on the lips.
“Sex or breakfast?” he asks, his eyes dark but full of
humor. His erection is digging into me, and I tilt my pelvis
up to meet him.
“Good choice,” he murmurs against my throat, as he
trails kisses down to my breast.
I stand at my chest of drawers, staring at my mirror, trying
to coax my hair into some semblance of style—really, it’s
just too long. I’m in jeans and a T-shirt, and Christian,
freshly showered, is dressing behind me. I gaze at his body
hungrily.
“How often do you work out?” I ask.
“Every weekday,” he says, buttoning his fly.
“What do you do?”
“Run, weights, kickbox.” He shrugs.
“Kickbox?”
“Yes, I ha一ve a personal trainer, an ex-Olympic
“Yes, I ha一ve a personal trainer, an ex-Olympic
contender who teaches me. His name is Claude. He’s very
good. You’d like him.”
I turn to gaze at him as he starts to button up his white
shirt.
“What do you mean I’d like him?”
“You’d like
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