“Michael,” she began to explain.
He took her hand in his and slowly kissed the top of it. “No. Don't say anything.” Their gazes locked for a beat, then he wrapped his hand around her waist and flipped her back to where she had been, with her head on the pillow facing the ceiling.
Her heart pouted in disappointment. She knew her lady parts were— Her brain, though, slapped her some high-fives, reminding her she was stationed here to work during the worst fire in the history of California. There wasn’t room for distractions.
Shae kept her eyes on Michael as he got up and rummaged through a pack on his desk. With his back to her, he removed some clothes and tossed them on the desk.
Then he took hold of the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up over his waist, shoulders, and off.
She sat up. What did he just do? Her eyes popped out of her head.
Broad shoulders, perfectly tanned and smooth, led down to ripples and planes from his shoulder blades, narrowing to a tight waist and down... Michael's jeans were so low, she could see exactly where his butt started.
Two muscled arms reached in front, and he bent over far enough for his pants to drop another inch and her heart to stop. Then she heard a zipper.
“What are you doing?” she asked, jolting out of her trance.
Michael turned, looking like someone who stripped for a living. She used her eyes instead of her fingers to roam his chest, his abs, down over his tight stomach to the hair peeking up from the front his jeans...
“Up here,” he pointed to his eyes, nailing her with his devilish grin. Did he have to look so comfortable with every inch of his body, and act like he knew what to do with it?
Then he unfortunately ruined her view by hiking his jeans up a few inches. “I was just going to change into something to sleep in.” he sounded perfectly innocent. “I wasn’t expecting you to watch.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks burned. “Sorry,” she said, mortified, swiveling away to face the wall. “I didn't know what you were doing,” she mumbled, probably sounding even more like a perv. Blood pulsed to her cheeks until it was a safe bet her face was the color of a tomato.
Shae flicked her glance from the San Francisco Giants plaque on the wall and back to Michael, who was now wearing basketball shorts and a white tee.
When she met his eyes, he busted out laughing.
“Shut up,” she fake frowned, trying to keep a straight face. “You should've asked me to turn around.”
“It didn't look like you wanted to...”
