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Precision muscle groups. Symmetry. Power and strength no one would dare mess with. Broad shoulders that could carry a man out of a firefight, or break one in half, or brace a woman when she wanted to get so much closer.
She shouldn’t be looking. But she was cataloging, not ogling. That made it better, right?
God. His hands. They looked so large next to the small mug. She thought about how it would feel to have his heated palm and long fingers stroking across her bare, sensitive flesh, and shivered.
He turned around, and the view just got better, and shecatalogedsome more of those muscles that helped him to do his job effectively. She took in the dark muss of his hair, the chiseled cut of his jaw and beautiful mouth, and suddenly she went a little crazy.Kiss him.
What? No.She didn’t do that kind of thing. But the strong column of his throat beckoned her as she stepped closer, noting his collarbone, the broad expanse of his chest, the flat, dark disks of his nipples sending a shiver down her spine, then those sculpted contours of his washboard abs, and she zeroed in on that Adonis Belt, like a giant arrow pointing downward to naughty land.
She read his body language, frustrated, restrained, held in check. Why?
“Is everything okay, Grace?” Oh, he was worried about her, and when she didn’t answer right away, he asked, “Couldn’t sleep?” He tilted his head. “Figuring out mouse hole theory, planning drills? Sharpening your claws?”
She shook her head. “Can you stop overwhelming me with your cuteness, again?”
He swallowed, and the light went out of those dark pools. God, his lashes were so thick as they closed, leaving black-sooted half-moons below his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I was just kidding.”
He looked away, his chest heaving a little. “So, no developments?”
“No…um…I was doing research.”
“On?”
“Well, you…ah, men…Navy SEALs, actually.”
“After you exhausted the internet, you came to the source?”
“Aren’t you perceptive?”
She stepped closer, and he looked like he was bracing for another impact. Grace gestured to those intriguing indentations on either side of his body. “Do you know what this is called?” she asked gently.
His mouth kicked up as he looked down, his voice half-amused. “Pretty sure it’s my stomach.”
“Yeah, that's a good layman’s term, but it’s also called an Adonis Belt for obvious reasons,” she said softly.
He frowned, looking at her with such intensity she trembled.
“My what now?”
“Technically, the inguinal ligament. But when it’s defined like this, it’s… well, it’s kind of iconic.”
“Are you calling my abs famous?”
“I’m calling them structurally significant. May I?” Before he could fully give her permission, she traced it lightly. He sucked in a hard breath, his body going rigid.“This supports your pelvic structure, distributes load across the hip flexors, stabilizes?—”
“Grace.” His voice came out like hushed gravel.
She was lost in how his skin was like velvet over steel, the firmness of the ligament, and her breath hitched. “…and it’s beautiful.” She traced to the top of the terry. “It goes all the way down, curving around your?—"
“Grace,” he muttered, this time his voice strangled. He grabbed her wrist, just held it, and her gaze went back to his face. Heat arched between them, and she watched him struggle to keep his reaction to her in check.
His gaze, so dark and intense, narrowed at her, as if he were trying to figure out exactly what she was up to. “Are you trying to seduce me,hebbiti?” He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, letting her go.
Startled at his question and the tenderness and heat of his mouth, although she shouldn’t be, Nash was direct all the time, she blurted, “I don’t know.” Her voice compressed in a wash of shame. The words slipped out before she could stop them. “Am I doing a bad job?” She wanted to take them back immediately, not because they weren’t true, but because she’d never asked that question before. Never needed someone to want her back this much.
This wasn’t about what peg went into what slot. If it were, she wouldn’t feel like her heart had just stepped out onto a ledge. She wouldn’t be waiting,aching,for something more than friction. Pleasure was fleeting, a moment of ecstasy, requiring no effort, but connection was so much more than body parts. It hummed not for the moment, but for an eternity. She wanted him toseeher, and she wanted to be seen, frightening her to the marrow. Being seen meant letting someone in, past the armor, past the algorithms, past the carefully curated silence.