placing my purring queen on top of his back. “Which is why I must add that this ripped version of Gerard Gibson”—I paused to trail a finger over the fabric that concealed his recently renewed abdominal muscles before climbing off the bed—“is pretty, but I like the old version best.” “You miss my love handles,” he purred, carefully rolling onto his back and then setting Cherub back down on his stomach. “You prefer a little extra Gibs to keep you warm at night, don’t you?”
