Holy hell.
It’s barely hitched around his barrel waist, his entire body steaming and his eyes half closed. Yawning, he heads straight for the coffee simmering away in the French press.
I’m not sure he’s even aware I’m here.
I can’t be aware of anything but him.
I’d caught a glimpse of his magnificence before when I’d caught him cooking sans shirt with just an apron...but there’s something so much more intense about seeing him like this.
Bare, broad, and thickly packed with muscle.
I swear, he’s got the mass of two fit men compacted into his broad, honed chest. His shoulders are wider than the Montana sky, his chest furred with a lush pelt of curling black hair over wild war ink, his waist tight and trim, his hips narrow, his legs long and powerful. He’s got hands and arms that could crush a ram, though I know firsthand how gentle they are.
Just one word comes to mind and it makes me giggle and blush.
Behemoth.
That’s his whole state of being, inside and out.
And even with that busted-up eye—which only adds to his badassery—he’s so savagely gorgeous my heart tries to break right out of my chest and take flight.
Especially with his thick hair freed from its usual combed look, flapping above his head and running around his defined cheeks like a halo, blending with the thick brush of his beard, softening the hard-cragged lines of his face.
My eyes flick back to his chest again for a better look at his tattoos.
I’m not disappointed by the freaking gallery on his skin.
Coiling serpents, whales, things that make me think of the deep, endless oceans twined with nautical symbols and naval insignias. This hint of something darker underneath his friendly surface; dark mysteries that could swallow me whole if I’d let them.
Right now, watching the way the rising morning light plays over his body...
Believe me, I’d give them a shot.
I’d let him devour me in one chomp.
I’m panting, too warm, like I’m standing under a heat lamp, soaking him in until my knees want to drop right out.
I can’t breathe. I can’t—anything.
Any second now, he’ll look up and see me staring, and I’ll flush like a tomato. But I can’t seem to stop, can’t seem to break this scary trance.
Black magic. It’s got to be.
It makes me too aware of my aching, needy body and what the actual hell am I doing?
I don’t do this.
I don’t lose my spaghetti, letting desire overcome good sense, but if I’m being honest?
It’s not just desire.
It can’t be just desire when everything about Alaska Charter—his warmth, his humor, his power, his kindness, his goodness—drums on every string of my heart like a country rock ballad.
And his song breaks me down, building me into someone else one trembling note at a time.
I’m a stumbler in the desert, parched, thirsting after everything a man like him offers.
If only that man were compatible with a black cat like me.
When Eli comes bouncing in, I’m almost relieved, even if I start a little.
He’s far too energetic for this early in the a.m., still in his shorts and t-shirt and already clutching his camera.
“Morning!” he belts out. “I got a really good shot of some birds flying in front of the sun from my window!”
I blink, shaking myself, and tear my eyes away from Alaska—but not before, I think, he catches me ogling him to infinity and beyond.
His head comes up, and he blinks at me, finally realizing I’m there.
Eep.
I freeze solid, face bursting with heat, then clear my throat and look away.
“Yeah? That’s awesome, Eli,” I whisper
Hands busy. Keep your hands busy, mind empty, senses off the amazingly hot mess standing a few feet away, nearly naked.
“What kind of birds?” I start pouring a cup of coffee and smile at Eli.
Are my hands shaking?
Yes.
“I couldn’t tell.” He drops down on a stool at the breakfast bar, scrunching his face. “They look the way seagulls always do on those beach paintings, you know? Just these two pointy curves.” Then he eyes his father. “Gross, Dad. Put some clothes on. There’s a girl in the house.”
Alaska makes a startled, half-embarrassed sound that borders on a laugh. “Sorry. I smelled coffee. My body woke up before my brain. It’s all instinct.” He still sounds drowsy, growly and husky and sweet. “And you, polecat, aren’t old enough to be noticing Felicity’s a girl. Stick to girls your own age.” I’m pointedly not looking at him, but from the corner of my eye I catch his grin. “...the Fords’ niece is coming into town today. Tara. Think she’s about your age.”
Eli blushes red-hot.
“Aw, I don’t care about that! I don’t even know her.”
“All the more reason to make a new friend.” I giggle and somehow manage to push the cup of coffee at Alaska without looking directly at him. “I’ve met Tara Brenley a few times. She’s really sweet and funny. Very ladylike. She’s got some wild stories about Heart’s Edge and I bet she’d love your pictures.”