BECCA
I couldn’t get over the sight of Taylor standing nearly naked in the window as he sipped his coffee and stared out at the backyard. In fact, I couldn’t stop looking at him from my vantage point out in the gazebo. For the last two months, he just walked around shirtless all damn day. What was I supposed to do with that? My battery-operated boyfriend was definitely earning his keep because of the man.
I pressed my feet more firmly into the thick padding of the yoga mat as I forced myself to focus on my breathing, the feel of the breeze blowing across my skin, anything but the handsome man I’d married who was currently grinning at me and... flexing.
The beautiful bastard.
Turning around, I began my sun salutation cycle. Normally I faced the house because that was where the sunshine beamed at this time of day, but something about my audience made me think facing away would be more effective.
I dipped down into a forward fold, then came up to chair pose before dropping fully to another forward bend and placing my palms on the mat. The sound of the back door sliding open caught my ear, but I didn’t stop. I stepped back into plank pose, then lowered myself to the mat before lifting my chest and taking a beat in cobra. I loved the way this stretched my chest and throat, my lower spine and belly. Then on my next exhale, I lifted my hips into downward-facing dog. It used to be my least favorite, but now, all the tension in my shoulders seeped into the ground.
“Bloody fucking Christ, lass. Are you determined to give me blue balls all damned day? I have to do a school talk this afternoon, but now all I’ll be able to see is your perfect fucking arse up in the air begging me to take a bite out of it.”
“That sounds a lot like a you problem, Taylor. I’m just exercising.”
I stepped one foot forward and brought myself into warrior pose, not allowing myself to look at him.
“Is that what you call it?”
“What would you say it is?”
I risked a glance over my shoulder. Freaking bad boy in low-slung sweats and a black tank. At least he covered all that toned muscle before he came outside. But why did part of me wish he hadn’t?
He grinned at me as he sipped his coffee.
“I’d call it a fucking tease.”
“I’m supposed to believe that you looking like... that isn’t your attempt to tease me too?”
One brow lifted as he brought the mug to his lips, the tattoos on his arm shifting with the motion. “Is that your way of telling me you want me, Tink? We are married now, after all. There’s no shame in wanting your husband to rail you into next week.”
“You’re really confident that you know how to please me.”
But if I was being honest, the idea of him having his way with me had always been appealing. It was the rest of him I had issues with. The way he had begun to make me feel when we first met, the way he scared me. He looked at me on that first date like I was the one for him. That wasn’t something I believed in. This? The business deal that our marriage was made sense to me. We helped each other achieve a common goal. It was easy. We didn’t have to fall in love and go through all the heartache that would inevitably follow. All we needed to do was stay together for one year. Ten more months.
“Do you have your dress for the gala tonight?” he called, knocking back the rest of his coffee as soon as he finished speaking.
Another gala. I was drowning in galas.
“Why? Do you need to give your approval?”
“I just want to make sure I choose the right tie to go with whatever color you’re wearing. What good is being married if we don’t look the part?”
“It’s champagne colored.”
“I’ve got just the thing. Do you want to try it on for me before we get ready? Maybe let me help you with your lingerie?”
I went back into downward-facing dog, and he groaned. “I wasn’t planning on wearing anything under it.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
“If you have a problem with that, maybe you shouldn’t go with me.”
“I’m going to be attached to your side the whole night. Spinning you around the dance floor and making sure every single bloke there knows you’re mine.”
God, sometimes he was so damn sexy. Deadly to my resolve. Exactly my type of bad boy.
And I’d just have to keep myself from falling for his special brand of charm. The one that made my panties wet and my vagina beg for attention. She wanted to know exactly what all those rolling Rs did for the Scotsman’s tongue.