Clark was already waiting for her.
She stopped.
Stared.
As her heart danced the flamenco.
He was wearing a pair of red and yellow board shorts that started at the top of his hips and dropped to his knees.
The rest of him was uncovered. Right there. For her to look at.
And look she did.
Starting with his ankles, she sauntered up his lean calves, drifted past the shorts to the tight abdomen, and settled on the broad, sculptured chest. Her breaths became clogged, her mouth torrid. She tore her eyes away, luring them with the promise of wide shoulders and swollen biceps.
Thanks!
Corrina.
