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“I’ll tag along, but could you put a shirt on?” I nod toward his solid chest, feeling a flush across my cheeks.
He closes the distance between us, shamelessly devouring me with his eyes. “Suit yourself,” he murmurs, his voice so soft I have to strain to catch it.
I’m disappointed when he brushes past me on his way to the closet and actually selects a shirt. He tugs it over his head as he leaves the room with a sly smirk on his face, leaving me to wonder what I’ve gotten myself into.
Cash’s definition of a jog doesn’t align with mine. He made it sound like it would be a leisurely affair—a few miles at most.
I was wrong.Very wrong.
Let the record show that Cash doesn’t jog. Heruns.
I consider myself in shape, doing yoga three mornings a week, and incorporating a mix of cardio and weightlifting into my routine, but Cash Stafford is on a whole other level.
We’ve been running for eight miles, and I’m grateful he’s maintained a pace I can match.
We ran through Hyde Park, passing Serpentine Lake and catching a glimpse of the swans gracefully gliding along the water’s surface. Making our way past Big Ben, we saw tourists milling around to get a glimpse of the iconic landmark.
Cash has hardly broken a sweat, but that didn’t stop him from ditching his shirt twenty minutes ago, tucking it into his waistband, and leaving me to admire how his corded muscles ripple with each pump of his arms.
He looks like a model on the cover ofSports Illustrated, with the brim of his hat pulled low, wearing nothing but a pair of black running shorts and sneakers. The idea of climbing this man like a tree grows more enticing by the minute.
Why does my husband have to be so damn hot?
Myfakehusband, I correct myself.
Even in the early morning, the streets of London are teeming with activity, and every woman we pass can’t resist gawking at him—not that he’s noticed. I’m having fun giving them all dirty looks, leaving them to wonder if Cash and I are together. With my bracelet on his wrist and my ring on his finger, he belongs to me in a way he never has to anyone else, making me feel oddly territorial.
Admittedly, I can’t stop ogling Cash either. I blame those rock-hard abs, tempting me to run my fingers along every ridge as I trace down toward his happy trail, slowly moving lower and lower till my fingers curl around his shaft. I haven’t seen him fully naked, but judging by the bulge in his boxers that I have seen, it’s safe to say the man is well-endowed.
Not that it makes a difference since I won’t be having sex with him. I’m quick to check myself when my mind strays into inappropriate scenarios.
I glance over at Cash again. He’s looking the other way, so I quickly swipe the sweat off my face.
Despite the mild weather, looking at me would make you think it was sweltering hot. While Cash is the epitome of sexy, I’m sweating like a pig, smelling like I didn’t put on enough deodorant, and my hair is sticking to my face.
“We’re almost home, wifey,” he calls out.
“You meanyourhome?” I taunt him.
“Whatever you say.” He glances over at me, and a grin spreads across his face, suggesting he likes what he sees.
When we’re a block away from his building, he stops by a newsstand to buy two water bottles. I can’t help but notice him taking a fifty-pound note from his shoe and handing it to the clerk, telling him to keep the change. He did the same for his doorman, Max, the day we got back from Aspen Grove.
His generosity only adds to his appeal. There’s just something about a man who takes the time to show appreciation for those around him that makes my heart skip a beat.
“Thanks,” I wheeze when he hands me the bottle. I uncap it and take a large gulp, sighing in relief as the refreshing liquid soothes my scratchy throat.
As I’m catching my breath, he moves to a nearby patch of grass. He takes his hat off and runs his finger through his sweaty tresses. I’m riveted when he pours the contents of his water bottle over his head as it trails down his chest, along his abs, and past his V-line. He shakes his head like an actor fromBaywatchwho’s just stepped out of the ocean after saving someone’s life.
Oh my god.
“See something you like, Ev?”
I sputter, water spraying from my mouth, my cheeks burning as I meet his hazel gaze. “No. I was just concerned about the water you just wasted.” It’s total bullshit, and we both know it.
“That’s very considerate of you,” he says with a smirk as he moves toward me. “But I think the grass was thirsty, don’t you?” His eyes are fixed on me, his pupils dilating as he watches the rise and fall of my chest.
My hands tremble, and I’m not sure if it’s from the long run or Cash’s masculine scent permeating the air.