The door opened to showcase Nick, ruggedly handsome in a T-shirt that hugged every dip and curve of his wide chest, every ridged stomach muscle. The white material tucked into his faded jeans, a different pair, this one with a hole on the side of the upper thigh. It was almost as if he’d predicted her fascination with the chinks in his armor.
She realized she’d been gawking at him only when she heard Rachel’s clunky car wheeze away. Nick grinned down at her, resting his arm up against the door frame. Something wicked urged her to nestle a palm against his cut waist, slide it upward, over his stomach, the side of his chest, until she could dig her fingers in the tender spot under his arm.
Bad girl. Dumb girl. Girl who had no business even thinking about sex stuff after Chad had proven how incapable she was of handling an intimate situation.
And Nick wasn’t helping, with his insolent smile and leathery scent. He was so close she could hear him breathing. She wasn’t happy to find that she’d been matching him, breath for breath.
“Hi,” he said softly, still leaning.
“Hello. May I come in?” Or maybe not. Could be an awful idea here.
He paused a moment, his pale blue eyes running over her body until she blushed inside and out. What could a man like him see in a getting-fatter-by-the-moment, bad-news girl? He grinned again, backing up to allow her entrance.
She stepped into the room, thinking she was doing pretty well poise-wise until she saw it.
The bed.
She’d just stepped into a situation she might not be able to handle.
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