And there’s a picket fence, which makes me feel giddy inside.
When I step out of the shower, I realize my mistake. Throwing my damp dress onto the kitchen floor, knowing Grey was watching from outside, had felt good, but now I’m wrapped in a towel with no clothes.
I can already imagine the smug look on his face. For some reason, I don’t feel as bothered by that as I should. I just feel anticipatory and a little jittery. Like his eyes are already on my body, making my skin flush with heat and desire.
Slowly, I open the door, the steam from the bathroom drifting out, the chill of the AC making goose bumps ghost across my damp skin. I find Grey in the living room, spread out on the couch, still shirtless and wearing his shorts from earlier. One of his arms is crooked behind his head, making his bicep look obscene, and he’s got his feet kicked up on the coffee table, his eyes trained on the TV.
I want to drink this image in. He looksdivine. Like something out of an equally erotic and domestic daydream. I can’t believe I’m here with him right now, that I’m the only woman who has ever been here, even though I can’t quite believe that. It makes something heavy settle behind my belly button, spreading out like liquid warmth to all my limbs.
I must make a noise, because his gaze swings from the TV to me, widening and heating as he slowly peruses me from toe to head, taking his time, lingering in all the places I’m aching for his touch.
A smile kicks up one corner of his mouth as his eyes settle on me, and I feel it everywhere.
“I could get used to this,” he drawls, not moving from his spot spread out on the couch.
“To what?”
His eyes sear into mine, but he doesn’t hesitate before saying, “Having you naked in my house.”
Oh, hell.
My free hand, not the one holding on to the towel for dear life, presses against my throat, and Grey follows the movement, his smile widening. In one fluid motion, he pushes to standing, his feet eating up the distance between us, until he’s only inches from where I’m hovering in his doorway.
My feet are rooted to the floor, and I have to tilt my head to look up at him. I think I might actually pass out when he places one hand on the top of the doorframe and leans down until his lips are against my ear, his breath skating down the slope of my neck.
“You left your dress on my kitchen floor, Fin.”
I swallow and dip my chin in a nod. “My bad.”
I can feel his laugh against my skin. “I think you just wanted to come out in a tiny towel to torture me.”
My gaze drifts down to the towel wrapped around me. “Grey, this is a bath sheet. I’ve never been more covered in my life.”
He leans back, grin widening. “In my imagination, it’s smaller.”
“You must have a very vivid imagination.”
“You have no idea.”
I have to press my lips together to keep from smiling. “Just get me some clothes.”
He shakes his head, slipping past me into the bedroom. “Fine, but what a damn shame it is.”
I turn, my gaze following him as he rifles through his drawers, pulling out a very faded T-shirt. His movements are easy, smooth. Like he’s so effortlessly comfortable in his body.
When he bends down to retrieve a pair of heather gray sweatpants from his bottom drawer, I catch sight of his ribs. Of the dainty flower inked there. A poppy.
My heart stutters in my chest as I stare at it. My favorite flower. Tattooed on his skin.
Grey stands to his full height, and when he looks at me, he sees where my eyes are glued. I watch in fascination as a heated blush starts at his neck and works its way up to his cheeks, staining them the prettiest shade of pink.
There’s a feeling beneath my skin, a pulsing, and a thought in my head that I keep unsuccessfully trying to grasp, like cupping water in the palms of my hands. Without thinking too much about it, I’m moving, closing the distance between us. My hand reaches out of its own accord, fingers touching the poppy, bumping over the ridges of his ribs.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, quiet enough that I can barely hear it over my heart beating in my ears. “When did you get it?”
I drag my gaze up from his torso, and when my eyes lock on his, I feel the weight of his stare zipping down my spine, coming to settle behind my belly button.
He swallows, hesitates for a moment, before finally saying, “When I was nineteen. That first summer Holden came back from college.”
