of the guys went around without their shirts.
Not Ethan’s back though. Or his butt. Or his dick. Or his—
Right. She was ridiculously attracted to all of his parts, from his mouth down to his strong calves. But back to his . . . well, his back. She’d actually felt her heart stop when she’d first seen it—okay, so maybe not stop, but it had certainly skipped a beat, hiccupped against her ribs.
Because the tattoos covering his back were beautiful.
Colorful swirls and lines coming together in something that was a cross between flames and floral that combined to form an Irezumi-inspired look. A term she only knew because she’d gone looking after she’d seen them, had researched for hours online until she’d discovered what they looked like.
She wanted to trace them with her tongue, her fingers, her lips.
Had imagined doing that more times than she could count.
“Yeah,” he said, and it took her more than a few moments to realize that he’d said it in response to her telling him she should go.
Which meant that instead of continuing to stare at him like a freak, getting lost in those storm-cloud eyes, she should go.
Nodding, her embarrassment at a critical level now, she spun away.
And felt him walk beside her, his long stride eating up her much shorter one. She wasn’t a small woman by any means, nearly five-ten and a solid size twelve, but he was so big that she felt tiny in comparison.
“What are you doing now?” he asked.
Dani missed a step, nearly faceplanted on the concrete floor.
Ethan, bless him, didn’t acknowledge the klutziness, other than to steady her again with one of those big hands—which really just made it even harder to focus on her steps and to not just melt into a puddle on the floor.
“Dani?” he said after a few more moments.
His hand was still wrapped around her bicep, and she found that it was hard to concentrate on anything except the contact.
And that was the only reason she could come up with later for why the conversation went as it did.
“Yeah?” she asked.
“What are you doing now?”
“Um?” She nibbled on her bottom lip. “You mean aside from driving home?”
The ghost of a smile. “After you get home,” he said. His thumb was on the inside of her arm, tracing lightly up and down, a coil of heat tightening in her abdomen.
Her mouth open and closed. Open and closed.
And then for some really freaking stupid reason, she blurted, “Bath, wine, cold pizza, and bingeing Bridgerton for about the fiftieth time on Netflix.”
Silence.
His feet slid to a stop, sliding her to a stop.
Lightning in those stormy eyes, that thumb pausing, pressing a little tighter. His lips parted and he was close, closer than she’d realized, his hot breath brushing over the skin on her forehead, her cheek . . . her mouth.
Oh God.
Was he going to kiss her?
She wanted that. She didn’t want that. No, she needed his lips on hers.
A door slammed in the distance and she jumped, skittering back, his hand slipping free. Her heart squeezed, and she could feel her pulse thrumming through her veins, thudding against the delicate skin at the base of her throat.
“What’s Bridgerton?” he asked softly, starting to walk again.
She gaped up at him, frozen in place.
He turned back, lightly snagged her arm again, tugging her forward, and he laughed quietly—a rough chuckle sliding through the air, teasing her skin like velvet and lace running over the surface. That husky laugh joined the imagery of his beard to mentally rub against her thighs.
“What’s Bridgerton?” he asked again.
“A show,” she managed to get out.
“What kind of show?”
The best kind of show—strong heroines, gorgeous, tortured heroes, pretty dresses, gossip, and drama . . . and there was that duke. Yum. Because that duke was just . . . her cheeks went hot. “Um . . .”
He bent, nearly running into her for the third time that evening, then his face softened, his eyes danced. “Ah.”
She swallowed. “Ah, what?”
Ethan straightened, but not before she saw the smile on his lips. “It’s a sexy show.”
Her lips parted, words stoppered up in the back of her throat.
Yes, it was a sexy show, an unapologetic romance that was wonderful to get lost in because was it too much for a woman to want a man to burn for her? No.
But also, probably, at least when it came to her.
Sighing, shoving down that sad thought, she knew she’d take her fictional duke any day of the week.
Ethan bent,