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The man was a confirmed bachelor.
Despite the many reasons she should cut and run, Bella took a shower, dried her hair, and put on the sexiest PJs she had packed. The teal T-shirt said Bookworms Rock. It was large and sloppy, and it covered her to mid-thigh, because she had purposely bought it two sizes too large.
Ian was prompt. His quiet knock came exactly thirty-one minutes after he had disappeared into his own room. When she opened the door, he gave her a lopsided smile that curled her toes and tightened other spots. “I was hoping you hadn’t changed your mind.”
She dragged him inside, took a quick peek out into the hall to make sure nobody was watching, and locked the door. “I haven’t,” she said. “You look nice.”
His feet were bare, his hair damp from his shower. He had tugged on jeans and a black cotton crewneck sweater.
Earlier tonight, the man in the tux had carried himself with sophistication and confidence. This Scotsman looked out-of-control, his body vibrating with tension and barely leashed hunger.
Ian didn’t wait for an invitation. He took the hem of her T-shirt and raised it, tugging it off over her head. His quick, sharp inhaled breath told her he approved the fact that she was bare underneath. “I hope you weren’t planning on sleeping,” he muttered, gliding his hands over her breasts and thumbing the tips.
She shook her head. “I can sleep when I’m dead.” His sweater came off as easily as her top. She put her hands, palms flat, on his hair-dusted chest. His skin was hot. She almost expected her fingertips to sizzle. For a nerd-genius he was in incredibly good shape.
Ian lifted her and backed her against the door. “Tell me what you want, Bella.”
She smiled at him hazily, feeling everything morph into slow motion. “I want it all.”
