“I pause, heat prickling my cheeks. “Out.” I gesture toward the door. His mouth curves in a slow, wicked smile. “Why would I leave? I don’t mind watching.” His voice is velvet wrapped in smoke, that Italian lilt making the words sound far more dangerous than playful. My hand stills on the zipper. “You’re impossible.” “Then let me be impossible,” he murmurs, levering himself up on one elbow. That gaze of his doesn’t waver, like he’s daring me. A war sparks inside me—common sense and pride against the sudden ache low in my stomach. Finally, I exhale and turn to face him. “Fine. But only look. No touching.”
Book:The Slug Crystal