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A big, broad chest darkens the room and holy shit… I’m paralyzed.
“Do me in the living room first,” Colt says, his voice like a deep echo in my daydreamy state.
My brows snap. “What?!”
Every chiseled ridge pulls his abdomen tight. “I said do the living room first.”
My heart releases.Fuck.
“What did you think I said?” Colt growls, that fierce tone making my nipples tingle.
I can see the strength and power coiled around his bronzed skin. No wonder I survived my parents disappointed looks and disparaging comments whenever he was around.
“Nothing. I didn’t-” I pause, stopping to get my head straight. If that’s even possible with him standing there like that. “The report. Let’s get started....”
I bite down on the pen, peering through the tops of my eyes to see if he puts a shirt on first. He doesn’t. And something heats my core like never before.
“Are you… staying like that?”
He shrugs and I’m resisting the urge to pluck the towel that clinging to his hips. “Yeah, why?”
I shake my head. “No reason.”
Big fucking reason. I can see it poking through the cotton.
We work through the living room, my hand shaking with every red tick I mark on the sheet. Colt tells me about the structure, where the support beams lie and how much wind resistance he’s put into the outside structure.
“I can show you when the weather clears,” he says, leading the way down a dark corridor. “And down here, a bedroom.” He pushes a door open to our right. “And this one is the bathroom.”
I chew my lip, hardly able to stop the teasing way his firm ass tightens beneath the towel when he walks.
“So one bedroom? Or two?”
Colt turns and the rich blueness in his eyes connects with me. His face is hardened still, I haven’t seen that smile since he broke out in that revealing outburst earlier. Right about the time he clasped my face, yanked me forward and swallowed me like a hungry bear.
I can still taste him.
I can feel the warmth of his hot tongue, sliding across my mouth.
Why did he have to pull away?
“The generator sits outside this window.” Colt steps around a pile of clothes on the floor.
Without even realizing, we’ve stepped into what I can only assume is his bedroom. A large bed takes up most of the space, the white sheets appearing soft and inviting. The room is bathed in a soft light that would be more cheerful on a bright sunny day, but somehow, with the strong scent of pine and Colt in the room, it remains warm and alluring.
A set of drawers by the bed catches my eye, where a collection of small trinkets rests atop the burgundy wood. A comforting scent draws me further into the room, and I glance down to see what looks like a woman’s handbag laying on the floor.
“Oh,” I say, the noise coming out involuntarily.
Colt’s gaze follows mine and he drops to collect the brown, leather bag. He straightens the long shoulder strap and squeezes the silver button that’s engraved with the letter ‘C’. The bag clamps shut and the more I look, the more it looks like an old compact waist bag.
“What is that?” I ask, frowning.
Colt lifts the bag and loops it over his head. “It’s my promise bag.”
“A promise bag?”
He nods. “That’s right. It’s a personal bag that I made from materials I’ve gathered over the years. Men of the land used to carry them, storing useful items or treasures that they have gathered in their travels. Often, they were meaningful to the owner and gave them a sense of belonging in unison with nature.”
