Cassian definitely stripped to advantage: the candlelight hadn’t lied. Slim, but not willowy; not tall, not too much sinew and muscle. He was an elegant package, Daizell thought, a picture that repaid attention, with the water running rivulets down his skin in droplets that begged to be caught with a finger. A finger that Daizell might pop into his mouth, or even between Cassian’s parted, expressive lips
