Page 266 of Coach
When he lifted off, his eyes lingered. My heart clawed its way into my throat as he stared.
“I’m glad you’re here,” was all he said before rising, naked, and vanishing into the hallway.
Damn, his ass is fine, I thought as he padded away, not giving his nakedness a second thought.
I laid there in his bed, staring up at the ceiling and grinning like the Cheshire Cat, as images of his Adonis-like body ravaged me over and over in my mind. I’d slept with handsome men. I was a decent-enough-looking guy to earn my share.
But Shane . . .
He was another level of hotness.
His face was rugged, with sharp lines and chiseled angles. He wasn’t classically handsome, but he was hot in a way rough men were when they wanted to fuck your brains out. I liked his face, more than I should, but his body . . .
Dear Peter, Paul, and all the other Beatles, his body would put an Olympian to shame.
And his confidence? Jesus. He was hotter than hell but didn’t act like it, didn’t parade around in a tank top to show off his physique, didn’t strip off his shirt and strut like some rainbow-covered peacock.
No, that wasn’t Shane.
There was humility to his hotness—humility in his confidence.
That was different.
It was strange.
It made me want him inside me over and over again, with his fingers dug so far into my scalp and hair I’d feel him for days after. Made me want . . .
The aroma of sizzling bacon brought me back to the present.
Shane was making breakfast.
That sentence alone baffled my sleep-deprived mind. I wondered if the man could cook. Then again, I’d also learned not to doubt him. He’d surprised me at every turn. Why wouldn’t his ability to excel in the kitchen do the same?
Reluctantly, I shoved myself up and off the bed, made my way into the bathroom, and indeed “freshened up.”
That made me giggle.
In the middle of my mountain man’s bathroom, I giggled.
Which made me giggle more.
Before I knew it, I was snort-laughing, stark naked, doubled over the sink trying to suck in air. The whole thing was ridiculous to the point of preposterous.
And I was loving every minute of it.
“Plating now!” Shane called from the far end of the house.
An image of Shane, all buffed up and naked, wearing nothing but a frilly apron had me gasping for breath. Of course, that wasn’t the case. The brawny man would never wear lace or frills. He’d probably never cook naked, either. He was far too practical for that.
But the mental image was sexy as hell.
“Coming!” I shouted back, immediately regretting my word choice and devolving into yet another fit of Italian-laced giggles.
By the time I left the bathroom, I realized the house had gone quiet.
Too quiet.
I padded barefoot into the hallway, every step pulling me farther from that steamy, dangerous place we’d left behind in the shower. The house unfolded around me, warm and rich with morning light filtering through the big windows. And as I walked, I noticed the pieces, most I’d spotted the night before, but a few I’d missed leaped out:
