The water line dropped below his taut abs—she’d been right about his eight pack—then lower still to a sexy trail from his navel, lower, lower, to his dark pubic hair and then his cock.
“Oh my.” She snatched in a breath. Though why she’d expected him to be anything other than naked, she didn’t know. This was Carter Harris, after all. Anything went.
The angel on her shoulder demanded that she turn away, that was the right thing to do. But the devil held her hostage, persuaded her that it couldn’t hurt to watch him stride from the ebbing waves.
He walked to his pile of clothes, a vision of strength and masculinity. With confidence and an utter lack of self-consciousness in every move of every muscle, he scooped up the towel and rubbed his hair, flashing his dark underarm hair.
She stepped back, into the shadows, or at least she hoped.
He gave his inked arms and chest a quick flick with the towel then wrapped it around his hips, low, beneath the sexy muscles that etched from his waist to his groin.
Leah’s mouth dried. She pressed her legs together as a rush of pure white-hot desire tightened her belly and dampened her pussy. It was crazy to want him, madness to even entertain the idea of getting up close and personal with his honed and toned biker body. But Leah couldn’t help herself. Everything about him screamed sex—dirty, orgasmic, utterly satisfying sex.
He scooped up his clothes and boots and strode toward her balcony, head down, feet sinking in the deep sand of the dunes.
And then he was climbing the four steps, coming closer by the second.
When he reached the top, he set his stuff on a round table, beside a vase of dainty yellow flowers in a navy jug, and set his attention fully on her. He didn’t say anything, just looked through the shadows.
His gaze drifted to her t-shirt, and she was sure he’d be able to see her taut nipples poking at the material.
She backed up further until the cool window touched her shoulders. Her underarms prickled and her pulse thudded in her ears.
He took something from his jacket pocket then trapped it in his fist.
He stepped up close, his mouth a tight straight line, his angled jaw set hard. His broad chest, swirling with images of skulls and serpents, was so near she could touch it.
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
He raised his right arm and set his hand on the glass beside her left ear, effectively imprisoning her.
He dipped his head. His eyes flashed, matching the ocean behind him. The scent of salt and spray and hot male skin laced her nose.
Was he going to kiss her? His face was so close she could see every speck of stubble, every line around his eyes, a tiny silvery scar on his left cheek.
“Leah,” he murmured, his breath warm.
“What?” she breathed. He filled her vision. His body seemed to take up more than physical space. It took over everything: her thoughts, her self-control.
“I have a confession to make.”
She swallowed. “You do?” She couldn’t pull her attention from his eyes. They saw right into her.
“Don’t be mad.”
“I … I won’t be.” What was he talking about?
He leaned closer still, his lips a hairsbreadth from hers. A lock of wet hair slid over his right eye.
Her heart beat faster, and she curled her hands into fists to stop herself from reaching out and touching his acres of smooth skin and exploring the muscles beneath.
“Do you promise?” he murmured, his attention going to her mouth. “Not to be mad?” He licked his bottom lip.
“I promise.”
His lower lip shone where his tongue had just touched it. He held still.
She was sure he’d hear her heart beating.