Page 17 of Daring the Bad Boy

His shoulders were a mile wide, the smooth tanned skin stretched taught over the strong line of his shoulderblades. A tattoo of black thorns circled his upper arm. The sprinkle of dark hair started at his sternum and fanned out over the bulge of his pectoral muscles. The sheet slipped as her arms started to shake, her gaze tracking down entirely of its own accord, to take in the ripped muscles of his eight pack and the roped sinews that defined his pelvis. The thin trail of hair blossomed at his groin into a thatch of dark curls surrounding the root of his penis, thick and long and…

“Don’t look down, Rosie, or I’ll get a boner that’s gonna be real hard to hide.”

Her gaze shot back to his face, her skin flaming with guilty knowledge. Her arms felt as if they weighed several tons as she strained to hold the sheet in place.

Her tongue darted out to moisten lips that had dried to parchment.

“And don’t lick that damn mouth, or we’re both liable to get arrested.”

“Sorry… Sorry.” She clamped her mouth shut, her teeth digging into her bottom lip.

He was completely beautiful. Every part of him. And she was going to have to sit quietly by while her class drew each perfect line and dip and bulge of his anatomy. And all she was going to be able to do was watch. And think about how inadequate her body was in comparison. The body she would have been more than willing to show him last night, full of daiquiri courage. But which had not been shown to anyone in over a year.

Not since that fateful last night with Vince, when they’d made love for the last time on Valentine’s Day evening and he’d rolled over, gone off to the bathroom, and then come back to say those fateful words.

I don’t know how to say this, but our sex life has kind of become a chore. And I’m thinking we could both do with some space to get the spark back.

A chore, she’d become a chore.

She’d overthought sex with Vince like she did everything. Like she was doing right now with Cal. Who was only interested in a one-night hook-up, after she’d fucked up last night’s o

ne-night hook-up by getting pissed and passing out. And was only sitting naked for her class as a favor to her, to stop her getting sacked.

But Cal was so much fitter than Vince and – from that almost glimpse of his penis – sporting a lot more heft. And she’d promised to do him. Later. But little did he know, she was advertising under false pretenses. Because she didn’t do hot sex. She did lukewarm duty sex. Sex with her was a chore. And once he found out, he’d feel cheated and pissed off with her. Even more pissed off than he had been this morning when he’d arrived.

If this wasn’t the definition of torture, she didn’t know what was.

“You can still back out,” she said, eager to give him a get-out clause. Because once he found out how rubbish she was in the sack, he might want to sue under the trade descriptions act.

Stop getting so worked up. This is your insecurity talking. You don’t owe him a thing.

He’s a stranger. A virtual stranger. Who you’ve shared a few kisses with. That’s all.

He can’t hold you to account, if you don’t deliver later.

Even Vince couldn’t do that – and she’d had a one-year relationship with him.

When Vince had finally come clean about Maya, the intern who’d supplied the spark Rosie lacked, Rosie had been devastated. Not because she’d been heartbroken, but because it was becoming a depressing pattern. She fancied a guy. She got off with him. She got over-invested. And then he dumped her or she dumped him – usually after he’d come on to loads of other women first. But even Vince had never had the cojones to offer to pose buck naked for her class for two hours.

Large hands covered hers on the sheet. “I’ve got it from here.”

He took the sheet and folded it around his lean waist. Lying down on the makeshift bed, he untied the sheet and let it drop to cup his groin, arranging it so almost everything was visible. Everything except his actual penis.

But the sinews in his thighs, that intimate hairless flesh that attached his hipbone to his groin, the springy curls that arrowed down and bloomed around his pelvic bone was more than enough to make Rosie giddy. She stepped back, and nearly tripped off the dais – drunker on two cups of instant coffee from the cafeteria dispenser than she had been the night before on three strawberry daiquiris.

Hold that thought, it might work in your favor later.

“Steady.” The slow smile spread, as he settled into a relaxed pose, resting his head on one hand, while the other lay casually across his flat belly – just above the hem of that blasted sheet. “How’s that?”

Rosie’s heartbeat sped up again as she took in every glorious inch of exposed flesh. Firm, tanned, taut and magnificent.

Way too magnificent frankly. I am so far out of my league I feel like the tea girl in Love Actually who gets the hots for Hugh Grant.

“Yes, wonderful,” she whispered, before swinging round to address her class.

“Right, remember everyone, the examiners will be looking for your ability to get the proportions correct first and foremost. So look at sketching in our model’s whole form in broad strokes before getting to the details.” She dragged in another breath, imagining sketching each intimate detail… With her tongue.

In your dreams.

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