Foreplay (The Ivy Chronicles #1)(37)

I could never imagine Reece having a complex. Not the way he looked.

I scanned the lean chest and flat belly cut with sharply defined muscles. I couldn’t stop ogling him. The waistband of his jeans hung low, revealing a thin strip of black waistband that belonged to his briefs.

“Your turn . . . I mean, if you’re done staring.”

I doubted I would ever be done staring at him.

I dragged my gaze from that delicious chest back to his face. His voice sounded different, rougher and deeper, a low rumble that caused a physical reaction in my skin. His eyes looked different, too. The pale blue was smoky, like a fog drifting in off the sea. He stared with a deep intensity that had my hands shaking as I reached for the hem of Georgia’s sweater.

I can do this.

I pulled it over my head quickly, before I lost my nerve. A quick glance down confirmed I wasn’t wearing my usual white cotton bra. Thank God. The pale pink satin cupped my breasts high. His gaze crawled over me, assessing, and I felt naked even though I was still wearing the bra. Come May there would be girls sunbathing on the quad in skimpier bikini tops than this.

“Nice,” he said softly.

“Thanks.”

“You don’t need to stand there like you’re facing a firing squad.” The rumble of his voice did nothing to ease my nerves. In fact, I might have jumped a little at the sound.

He scooted to the edge of the bed and stretched out an arm, reaching for me. His fingers curled around my wrist and pulled me forward, that half smile still there, hugging his lips. I moved into him with halting steps, both relieved and oddly disappointed that he was cutting short my striptease (but mostly relieved).

All that bare, firm-looking skin drew my eyes again. I couldn’t stop drinking it in. He looked edible. He should go around without a shirt on all the time. Scratch that. The guy would cause a riot.

He let go of my wrist, leaving me standing between his splayed thighs. His body radiated warmth as I stood between his legs, hovering close, looking down at him, my fingers itching to settle on the naked curve of his shoulders and feel all that solidness, that warmth, to trace the tattoo crawling over his chest and shoulder.

“Keep going.” His voice slid like velvet over my skin.

I swallowed. “What?”

“As pretty as the pink looks against your skin, I want you to take this off.” He fingered a single strap, barely touching me.

Okay, so he wasn’t letting me off the hook, but the idea of removing the bra sent a ripple of panic through me. He was eye-level with my chest! I wasn’t sure I could handle him that up close and personal.

I wanted experience, but wasn’t this diving into the deep end? Couldn’t we wade in a bit first? Start out with the kiddie pool?

His lips twisted. “You’re thinking too much. I can tell. Stop.”

“Is this what you do with other girls that you don’t intend to sleep with?” I hardly recognized my voice. It sounded so small and breathless.

“This is what I’m doing with you.” His hands settled on my waist, twin burning imprints on my skin just above the waistband of my jeans. “C’mon. Let go.”

Maybe it was the challenge in the low rasp of his voice—or simply the truth of his words. I was thinking too much. I reached behind me and undid the clasp, wondering how, in one week, I’d gone from a girl with one bad kiss to my credit to this. Alone and half naked with a hot guy way out of my league.

Stop thinking, Pepper.

I held the cups of my bra close to my chest, stopping it from falling.

This has nothing to do with thinking. It’s just instinct.

He studied me, looking from my face to my arms pressed tightly in front of me, saving me from total exposure.

He lifted one hand. Watching me intently, he slid one loosened strap free, his fingers grazing my skin, soft as a whisper. The thin scrap of satin fell soundlessly off my left shoulder. A shiver raced through me. Goose bumps broke out over my flesh and everything in me tightened.

It was just a tiny thing. One strap that afforded no real protection, but it was like a barrier dropped. He moved to the other strap. Another whisper-brush of fingers against the curve of my shoulder. More shivers.

It was just my arms now, clutched before me, holding the pink cups in place. He continued to watch my face as he set both hands to my wrists, circling them with long, sure fingers. Slowly, firmly, he pulled them away from my chest. The bra dropped.

Despite how warm I felt—how warm he made me feel—a cold draft slid over me and I shivered. My nipples reacted, the peaks hardening. Or maybe that was just him. His stare roved over me, those eyes a glittery shade of blue, impossibly bright in the dim room.

It was the most exposed I had ever been. I didn’t even strip off my clothes in front of other girls. I had been that girl in that locker room who dove into bathroom stalls or dressed hurriedly with her back to everyone. This was a big, huge, never-before-happened event.

There was nowhere to hide.

His hands settled around my rib cage. It wasn’t my breasts, but he might as well have touched me there. I still jumped. His thumbs rested below the undersides of my breasts. So close but not touching.

He drew me in, pulling me down onto the bed. The mattress met my back. He curled against me, one muscled arm beside my head, one of his legs sliding over my hip, pinning me. I sucked in a tortured breath and held it. It was too much. Too soon.