Page 120 of Bad For Me (Rock Canyon, Idaho 5)

Some male models had to rely on airbrushing to get muscles like that.

Mike’s skin shone like he was still damp from a shower and when her gaze finally met his, he wasn’t glaring anymore.

No, his expression was intense. Hungry.

She almost gulped, but that might’ve given him the impression that he affected her. He didn’t, of course; she was just observing him. Closely.

“You’re early.” His voice was deeper and surly, but his obvious irritation didn’t bother Zoe. He tossed aside the towel.

“Yes.” But the shiver that shot through her lower belly did.

Still, she shouldn’t be getting turned on by Mike, no matter how nice his body was or how rumbly his voice seemed. She had Tom, and he was exactly what she wanted: no surprises, an open book.

But even on his best day, Tom doesn’t give you quivery, naughty feelings, now does he?

Mike reached out and took the bags from her hands, startling her out of her thoughts. When his cool fingers brushed hers, the simple touch burned her skin. His hair glistened with moisture, and the spicy, clean scent of his soap was delicious, intoxicating. Zoe almost leaned into him, but he was already pulling back, carrying the bags inside.

Ever the gentleman.

The thought sobered her somewhat as she followed him inside. Mike was a good guy, or so he said. Raised right, loved his mama, held doors open for ladies . . .

And yet the expression in his eyes when he looked her way wasn’t good at all.

It was bad in the melt-her-panties-and-made-her-want-to-find-out-what-was-under-those-shorts kind of way.

“You look really good,” he said.

She smoothed her hands over the black skinny jeans that disappeared into knee-high lace-up boots. She’d wanted to be comfortable yet sexy when they walked into the bar together, so she’d left her long hair down around her shoulders. She wore a purple sleeveless top with a low-cut neckline and her leather jacket.

She hated how pleased she was by the compliment.

“Thank you.” Desperate to change the subject, she stepped up to him and ran her finger through his shaving cream. “Why is your face covered in shaving cream?”

“Because I wanted to dress up like Santa Claus. Why do you think?”

She knew she was playing a dangerous game, but she couldn’t fight the overwhelming desire to tease him. Taunt him. Stepping into his body, she watched his eyes stray down to her lips and a zing of pleasure made her mouth tingle.

“If you’re trying to shave off this prickly, dark hair”—she scraped off more, the fluffy wetness and scratchy hair beneath delicious against her finger—“don’t. Bad boys nearly always sport a little scruff.”

God, she wished she could touch him. She’d love to rub the palm of her hand across his cheek. Maybe slide her fingers up to grip his short hair and pull his mouth down to hers.

“Zoe.” A dark threat lingered in his curt use of her name, and she bit her lip to keep from sighing.

“What?” she said when she finally trusted herself to speak.

“Whatever game you’re playing right now, don’t.”

“Don’t what?” She wiped the shaving cream on her finger off on his shoulder dismissively, watching his face for the irritation. Mike radiated anticipation instead.

Mike reached out and grabbed the towel he’d thrown off the couch, wiping the shaving cream off his face. “Don’t think I won’t give you exactly what you’re asking for.”

“And what’s that?” Why did she sound so warm and inviting? It sounds like she was practically begging him to—

Suddenly, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him as he sat down in a kitchen chair, making her heart thunder in her chest. Before she could protest, he yanked her face down across his lap, and his arm held her in place as a hard smack came down on her ass.

“Ow, what the—fuck!”

Another whack.

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