Dead Perfect
“Sitting up, she admired the width of his shoulders, his tight buns, the snug fit of his jeans, the long line of his legs. He really was a perfect specimen, the kind of man that graced the covers of magazines like GQ and appeared on posters in clothing stores.
His soft chuckle filled the silence. “Do you like what you see?”
“How did you know I was looking?”
“I can feel your gaze on my back.” He turned to face her, his arms crossed over his chest. “And other places.”
“Oh.” She knew she was blushing but she couldn’t help it. Drat the man, she had blushed more since she met him than she had in her whole life.
“So,” he said, “now that you’re officially moved in, what would you think about keeping the same hours I do?”
“I don’t suppose you could write during the day?”
“No. I’m afraid I’m too old and set in my ways to change now.”
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