Page 124 of The Making of Marnie Jones

With some reluctance, she pulled away. A little unsteady, she stood, holding her hand out to him.

He took it, pushing himself from the floor.

Bianca barely stirred.

Taking his hand in hers she led him down the hallway. Once they were in her bedroom, she closed the door. “Not in front of the kids.”

He rewarded her with a deep chuckle.

Suddenly bashful, she stepped away. “I’m going to get undressed.” Quickly, she fled to the bathroom.

You must be crazy.

Once secured inside, she tried to steady her breathing. The idea of undressing in front of Jake was more than she was ready for. Fingers shaking, with very little dexterity, she stripped down to her underwear. As she debated between a bathrobe and her chambray shirt, she chastised herself. She wasn't planning to stay in these clothes for long, so what difference did it make?

The shirt. Sexier than terry towel, right? Her cheeks were hectic with color in the reflection.

This is going to be okay. I’m just a normal woman having normal sex with a really hot guy. What could go wrong?

“Marnie, sweetheart, are you okay?”

At the concern in Jake's voice, she steeled herself. “Just a moment.” She left enough buttons open to show her cleavage—but not be indecent—then, taking a deep breath, opened the door, unsure of what she might find.

Jake stretched out on the bed, propped up against the pillows, hands laced behind his head. He’d removed his socks and shirt and wore only jeans.

She shut her mouth. His bare chest, lightly dusted with hair, covered an amazing specimen of ripped abs. Her hands itched to touch.

“Feel free.”

Accustomed to his mind-reading abilities, she pressed her knees to the mattress and crawled up toward the head of the bed.

He kept his hands behind his head.

When she came up to him, she tentatively placed her left hand on his chest., His muscles contracted under her fingertips, and little butterflies fluttered in her belly. His skin was soft, warm, and smooth. His breath hitched as she placed her hand flat against his abdomen, her fingers resting against his ribcage. The breathing was steady, a soothing cadence to her racing heart.

“May I touch you?” A soft entreaty.

Pulling her lower lip through her teeth, she nodded.

“Turn around.”

She complied.

He snaked out his hand and snagged her braid. With gentleness and care, he began the tedious process of untangling her hair. “Who did this?” His frustration was clear.

“Your niece.” Marnie grinned. “It's called a French braid.”

“I can think of a few things to call it.” Finally, he freed the last strands. “I love your hair.” He pressed his nose to her nape. “I even love the smell of your hair.”

She suppressed a giggle. “Jake.”

He gathered her hair, easing it over one shoulder, then planted a kiss on her nape where the shirt dipped and exposed her creamy skin. She shivered. No trepidation or fear—only a deep longing that almost made her weep.

“Cold?”

She shook her head.

“Too bad, because I know how to make you warm.”

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