He closed the shower door and stepped into the spray. His hands lifted to smooth back his hair, and the movement drew my eyes to his flexing abdomen—water rivulets running down the carved dips and peaks of his chiseled muscles. The sight was mesmerizing, which was why he caught me staring when his eyes reopened. His darkening irises sparked with challenge as he held my gaze while spreading bodywash across his chest, arms, then down… I couldn’t resist. I was a weak, weak woman.
