Page 82 of Sin Bin

“You heard the man. Off you go.” Before she could protest further, Rosalie took her by the shoulders and steered her down the hall to her new bedroom.

When Meadow turned around, Rosalie put a finger over her lips, silencing whatever she’d been about to say. “The next time a strapping hunk offers to do something manly for you, just smile prettily, bat your eyelashes and say ‘Thank you ever so kindly.’ Then stand back and watch him be your knight in shining sweat.”

Meadow made a face. “‘Thank you ever so kindly’? Who talks like that?”

“Smart women who know how to appeal to a man’s sense of chivalry. Don’t ever be afraid to tap into your feminine power. The Good Lord gave it to you for a reason.”

Meadow rolled her eyes. “What bunk.”

Rosalie laughed. “I’ll have Logan bring your suitcases to your room so you can change into fresh clothes after your shower. He can put the rest of your stuff in the spare guest room so you can sort everything out at your leisure.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “I might hang around a bit longer to, ah, supervise his efforts. If he gets all sweaty and takes off his shirt, I certainly won’t complain.”

Meadow laughed and shook her head. “You sound like Trish.”

“Ah, Trish,” her aunt said fondly. “Now that’s the woman my brother should be dating.”

Meadow sighed. “From your lips to God’s ears.”

Rosalie winked and went out the door.

Meadow toed off her sneakers and headed to the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth and took a long hot shower, washing off layers of road-trip grime. She shampooed and conditioned her hair until it was squeaky clean and smelled like herbs and mint.

After showering and blow-drying her hair, she put on a clean T-shirt and gray leggings and gathered her hair up in a high ponytail.

By the time she came out of her room, her aunt and Cameron were gone. When she peeked inside the guest room and saw all her belongings, she was shocked to realize that Logan had already finished unloading the trailer.

Deeply impressed and grateful, she went in search of him to offer her heartfelt thanks.

He wasn’t in the living room or kitchen. As she neared the open door to the laundry room, she heard water running. Curious, she walked to the doorway and promptly froze at the sight that greeted her.

Logan was leaning over the utility sink splashing water over his face and bare chest, soapsuds clinging to his dark beard.

Meadow’s mouth went dry as dust. She knew she should leave and give him his privacy. But she could only stand there gaping, transfixed by the sight of him.

His massive chest and shoulders were carved with hard muscle beneath smooth olive skin. His washboard abs were a perfect eight-pack that dipped into a sexy V below the waistband of his jeans. The dark denim cupped his firm, mouthwateringly round ass.

His back muscles rippled as he straightened, eyes closed, and grabbed a towel off the shelf above the sink. Maori-style tribal tattoos ran down his right arm from his shoulder to his fingers. The full sleeve of ink thrilled Meadow, setting off a rush of tingles in the pit of her stomach.

She watched him dry off with the towel, her knees growing weaker by the second. He was obscenely hot, the embodiment of every hetero woman’s panty-soaking fantasy.

He turned at that moment. When he saw her standing in the doorway, he lowered the towel from his face and raised one sexy eyebrow.

She blinked, her brain short-circuiting under the onslaught of all that testosterone and raw masculinity.

“Your tattoos.” Her voice came out as a dry croak. “I was just, uh, admiring them.”

He glanced down at his arm and then back to her. His eyes glinted with amusement. “You can come closer, Jupiter. I won’t bite.”

Too bad I can’t make the same promise!

She felt dazed as she moved closer to study the intricate detail of the tattoos. The design featured a beautiful mosaic of interlocking shapes and symbols coiled around a tribal sword. The tip of the ancient sword extended down to his hand. Across his knuckles, the word Interemptor was etched in Latin.

Her eyes flicked up to his. “Interemptor?”

“Slayer,” he translated.

“Oh. Wow.” She shivered slightly as she continued admiring the exquisitely patterned sleeve of tattoos. They made him look like the fiercest of warriors, which he backed up every time he stepped onto the ice. She wanted to glide her fingers over his tattooed arm, feel the warm male flesh beneath.

The intensity of the urge made her back up a step.

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