and when my vision clears, my stomach does a somersault at the image hovering over me. When Roman’s handsome face materializes, my lips part. My mouth suddenly goes dry, and I feel like I can’t breathe all of a sudden.
He’s straddling me, hovering over me, his perfectly handsome face dotted with perspiration. His tan skin is gleaming in the sunlight, highlighting the bright color of his eyes, the light golden stubble dusted along his jaw, and the sharp features of his face. He has a bandana around his head, keeping the dark brown locks out of his face. His broad chest and muscular arms glisten with sweat, and I try not to stare too hard. But fucking hell, it’s impossible not to.
How is this man real?
Like what was God thinking when he created Roman? Oh, sure, let me just make this man the finest specimen earth has ever seen and hope for the best? Christ in heaven, it’s unfair.
No one has any right to look this exceptional, least of all, when they’ve just finished working out. After I work out, I look like a tomato that has been dropped, rolled, used, and abused, and I feel like I smell like an actual jock strap that hasn’t been washed in approximately eight years. But, of course, that’s not the case with Roman. He looks like a goddamn Calvin Klein model who has just been spritzed with water to make him look sweaty, and he smells like pure unadulterated male. Dripping with pheromones and testosterone.
I glance down, away from his face, trying to shake off my attraction to him, and my eyes damn near bulge out of my skull, when I see the firm planes of his naked torso.
Oh, come on!
His skin is glistening. Literally glistening. His sweat looks like 24-karat gold, and instead of being disgusted and offended by his nudity, I’m absolutely enraptured and turned on by it. I have the strangest urge to reach out and caress his skin, his firm pecs. I’ve seen the man without his shirt a few times now, but never, and I mean never, have I seen his abs this close. It’s insane how deep each contour and rivulet is. He’s gotta hit at least a million sit-ups a day to maintain that body. At least. I refuse to believe that is just genetics.
The man is quite literally dripping sweat on me, and instead of pushing him off, I’m basking in this moment and committing every vital detail about him to memory for safekeeping. I feel like I’m attached to a defibrillator with sharp painful currents, jolting my entire body to life, as we stare at one another.
“Olivia, dammit, say something,” he growls, his brows pinching together in distress. It’s then I realize I’ve yet to say a word to him. I’ve just been staring up at him, ogling his nude chest like a mute. Something, I am most certainly not, which he can attest to.
“Hi,” I finally manage to breathe, and for a split second, I see something enter his eyes. It’s warm and soft. Hell, it’s ooey-gooey, and I feel it all the way down to my bones, liquifying me. I feel like Roman is peering into my soul with that look alone, touching the deepest parts of me, without even trying.
His lip quirks the tiniest bit, but it’s enough to cause a swarm of hummingbirds to take shelter in my stomach. They’re roaring in my belly, their wings flapping recklessly, as my heart beats like an angry metronome.
“Are you okay?”
“What?” I whisper, my gaze dropping to his full lips. They’re so…perfect. Nice and big, plump, yet so firm. His bottom lip juts out, hanging down, and I have the oddest impulse to reach up and nibble on it. Take it in my mouth and scrape my teeth over it.
He chuckles. The sound is husky, and it hits me right in my loins, causing gooseflesh to spread over my skin. “I asked if you’re okay?”
What would it feel like if I kissed him? Right here, right now? Would he taste—
“Yes! God, I’m sorry. I don’t know what my problem is,” I rush out, realizing my mind has drifted to the gutter, once again.
He shoots me a knowing look, as he helps me to my feet. My body screams in protest, but I take the help with a repressed groan of pain.
We stand there awkwardly. Him shirtless, looking like the god-like man he surely is, and me, still dressed in my work scrubs,