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My brows furrow as I press against his lower back again, pushing myself up. “Did you watchPirates of the Caribbeanlast night or something? Or do you have a pirate affinity I don't know about?”
He laughs, the sound vibrating against my lower abdomen. “I dunno, sweetheart. How do you feel about stripes and swashbuckling?”
He slowly lowers me to the ground inside Bane's room, allowing plenty of time for my body to slide against his.
I grab onto his shoulder as all the blood flows back where it's supposed to. “I happen to love a good colorful stripe.”
His hands stay rooted on my hips as he gives me a once-over, one of those slow perusals that feel like a physical touch.
“I'm not surprised. You'd look good in anything, sweetheart. Though, I gotta say, I'd much prefer you in my tee than Bane's.”
“Yeah? Such a shame you weren't here to offer yours then,” I murmur, dragging my palms over his inked skin.
He flashes me a wolfish grin and reaches one hand behind his head to grab the collar of his shirt. In one stupid-hot, fluid move, he tugs his white tee over his head. His dark blond hair flops over his forehead and I think his smile widens, but honestly, I'm too distracted by the absolute work of art in front of me.
Swaths of color and intricate design cover his chest and upper arms. The lines of ink emphasize every ridge and plane of his sculpted muscles. My lips part on a quick inhale, and my fingers twitch to explore.
“Jesus Christ,” I murmur without thinking.
He chuckles, this distinctly masculine laugh that screams confidence. His index finger curls underneath my chin, tilting my face up and effectively closing my mouth. If I weren't in some sort of lusty fog, I might feel embarrassed about my blatant ogling.
“Eyes on me, Evangeline.”
My gaze flies to his. His green eyes look darker in this light, moody and intense. It's the kind of look that I'm powerless against.
Or maybe it's just the St. James men that make me feel weak.
Warmth pools in my lower belly as awareness pricks against my consciousness.
I swipe my tongue across my bottom lip. “What are we doing in here, Nova?”
He holds my gaze as he toys with the hem of my shirt, letting his fingers brush against my bare thigh.
“I wanted to talk to you, see how you're feeling.” His voice is low, like this is a private conversation and he doesn't want to be overheard.
My gaze strays to his abs almost without conscious thought. I have to actively push down the growing cloud of lust inside of me. “And you have to do it shirtless?”
He grins, flashing his dimple, and my traitorous body clenches instantly.
“Nah, but then I can't do this,” he says, slowly pulling up the hem of my tee.
My hand flashes out, landing on his and stopping his progression. “I'm not wearing anything underneath this.”
His gaze flicks down, pauses, and then sears me with the same intensity as earlier. “Hm, it seems like you've forgotten you're wearing his boxers, sweetheart.”
My eyes widen at the insinuation before I roll them so hard, it gives me flashbacks to when I was younger. And sassier.
“I'm not getting naked with you in your cousin's house,” I mutter.
He nods, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Carter, no one said anything about getting naked.”
The use of my last name surprises me. It feels playful, but he hasn't called me that since the first day we met. Maybe I'm reading too much into it though.
I leave my hand on top of his wrist, but I don't stop him when he continues his ascension.
“Whatever you say, Casanova,” I mumble, my gaze tracking his hand.
He stops, his knuckles skimming the underside of my right breast. Goosebumps erupt over my skin, a shiver racing down my spine at the contact.
