Page 133 of The Forbidden Note

Not in the slightest.

He’s all lean muscle, six-foot-plus of a walking work of art. Tattoos climb over arms and shoulders sculpted to perfection. His whole body is chiseled to the gods.

Large hands run through his hair, throwing tiny sprays of water and making his biceps flex. Cruel blue eyes light on me.

It takes a few seconds for my brain to reboot.

“Hey,” he says stoically.

“H-hey.” My heart is pounding hard, but I try to keep my tone stern. “Get dressed. We need to talk.”

“About what?” He flicks his hair back.

“I’ll tell you when you’re decent,” I say harshly, using my ‘teacher’ voice.

At the tone, every muscle in his face goes tense all at once.

Rebellion coils in his eyes. “I’d rather be indecent.” He stares pointedly at my shorts which are tiny and barely visible beneath my giant college T-shirt. “Come to my room.”

“Your room?”

“You can say whatever you want in private.”

For a second, my brain misfires, wondering what it would be like to talk with my body instead of my lips. To feel him over me. To wrap my fingers around him and make him moan. To…

“No.”

“No?” He arches a brow.

“I…”

“Grey.” He moves toward me.

I step back. “Here. Let’s talk here.”

“Talk about what?”

“Last night.”

His lips curl up cruelly. The hewn angles of his jaw hit the light, all rough strength and hard edges. “It looks like you want to do more than talk, tiger.”

My nostrils flare.

My heart is about to burst.

Zane has a right to be cocky. With a body like that, I’m sure he’s had more than his share of ogling girls.

Folding my arms over my chest, I say, “I’m being serious.”

“Mm.”

“Yesterday… it was an emotional night. We almost died.”

He steps closer to me.

My gaze slides down his broad chest, cut abs and the low-slung towel that teases at a sculpted pelvic bone.

Don’t watch.

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