She shut her eyes to block out the image. This was all kinds of madness. “Tanner.”

Matilda opened her eyes at the sound of her voice. It was deep and ragged, almost a growl. Maybe a plea.

“Tanner, what?” he asked, his voice as husky as hers as he flicked his gaze to her face. “Tanner, stop? Tanner, leave?” He slid a hand low on her stomach, the muscles beneath tensing in anticipation. “Tanner touch me?”

A lazy finger stroked the skin just above the waist band of her boxers, the sensation coursing white hot need straight between her legs.

I’ll wash. Looks like brute strength is required.”

Matilda wasn’t about to argue. Might as well put those ridiculous muscles to good use. “I doubt I could write them into submission somehow.”

“No,” Tanner agreed, heading to the sink and flicking on the taps, intent on filling the industrial size sink and agitating the water as he squirted in some detergent. “You could, however, write about how I heroically and uncomplainingly scrubbed pots for hours while being witty and charming all at the service of some of the city’s less fortunate.”

“You want me to add in how woodland animals came in from the alley to befriend you?

It’s been a long time,” he murmured, prowling towards her, drawing to a halt just out of reaching distance.

Not long enough.

Not nearly long enough as the incredible mix of soap, deodorant, and cologne he wore so well had her body responding like he was an original glazed Krispy Kreme.

Still warm from the oven.

Dear God...he did still smell good enough to eat.

You treated me like a fool and you played with my heart, like it was one of your damn footballs.

As if your ego needs any more stroking. If it took form right now it’d be a giant hard on.

I like this skirt. Makes a guy wonder just how to get a girl out of it.