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Chapter Five
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Finley’s entire worldas she knew it changed irrevocably. She was so stunned she couldn’t formulate words, let alone enough strength to try and escape from under the rock-hard male body pinning her down to his bed.
A million flames seemed to engulf her soul and spread right through her whole body. Her nipples were so hard now they ached. Her pussy throbbed so much that the urge to squash her thighs together overwhelmed her. Butterflies collided in her belly, and an ultra-feminine lust tugged at her womb. She was on fire.
And wet.
Oh, so, so wet.
Everything she knew about herself no longer made sense because Jagger McCoy had tossed her onto his bed and kept her there using the weight of his body over hers. And now her brain had melted at the sight of him.
No matter how much she tried to drag her gaze off his face, she remained emphatically enthralled by his dark green eyes, his staggeringly structured jawline, and his panty-melting lips. She had no idea he would look like this.
She had come across a plethora of good-looking men in her life; it went with the Marsh lifestyle—rich, trendy jet-setter, young and in charge—but she could say without a shadow of a doubt Jagger McCoy was the only man who truly captivated her on every level.
All the men she had encountered were soft, meticulously well-groomed pretty boys. But not him. No. His features were rugged and rough, the angles on his face hard and strong, powerful enough to scare anyone away if he so chose.
She’d already had a full view of his body, but feeling it slide up against hers, with his leg between her parted thighs as a way to keep her down, was something else altogether.
She blinked frantically, hoping her brain would pick up on her signals and do something, anything. But she couldn’t just lie there stunned and mute by his glorious looks and uber-male sexiness like an idiot.
Now she knew what Jenna had meant.
Say something, you silly girl. Push him off you. If this continues for a minute longer, you’re going to leave a wet spot on his bed, and he will be able to smell your arousal.
She threatened herself repeatedly, but couldn’t move a finger. How had this all gone so wrong?
She’d asked herself a thousand questions during her eternity of self-inflicted incarceration behind the bathroom curtain, such as whether she’d lost her mind, how she was going to escape, and why hadn’t she grabbed the damn towel before hiding, but now that everything had fallen apart, her brain was on the brink of total collapse.
He'd done his part. The man had taken a shower right in front of her. A long one. His goods would have been hanging happy and free. She had been in a prime position to capture it all on camera. In one move, she could have discretely parted the curtains and taken a shot. But did she? Nope.
Instead, she had been frozen, near naked, with her torn-up clothes and boots in her hands and her phone out of her reach. One lousy bug in her bodysuit, and it had all gone to hell.
She’d tried to look at it as a cock half-hard situation instead of half-soft... She hadn’t failed as long as she hadn’t been caught. So escape, that was the new plan. Escape, regroup, and come back with more insight and a better contingency plan. Also, bug repellant and different attire.
After a good twenty minutes had gone by, certain he wasn’t going to return to the bathroom anytime soon after his shower, she stepped out from behind the curtains and, as quietly as she could, peered into the bedroom.
He lay on his back on the king-sized bed, his six-foot-something frame sprawled from one corner to the other, and a white sheet bunched loosely around his hips, sound asleep.
