Page 12 of Mother Pucker

I’m mildly offended you would think that. But I’ll happily accept a sugary treat as an apology.

Another text follows before I can type my reply.

Jeena

Never mind. Your form of sugar would be to send me papayas or some other unsatisfying healthy shit. Please refrain from sending me any treats, unless they’re made with a shitload of high fructose corn syrup and processed sugars.

I shake my head, smiling. The woman is a sugar fiend if I’d ever met one, and no amount of me sneakily trying to change that has been successful.

Me

Am I wrong?

Jeena

Well, no. It’s Wynn.

Me

Is he okay?

Jeena’s reply has me smiling bigger, even though I feel bad for her little boy.

Jeena

Given he’s currently trying to jump from one couch to another, I’d say he’s fine, physically. What’s happening inside that head of his is another story entirely.

I don’t even realize that the smile is still on my face when I lift my finger to ring the bell. Before I’ve even pressed it, the door flings open and the most gorgeous man, wearing nothing but his very form-fitting boxer-briefs, grins at me from the other side. His tattooed arms are splayed up, holding the doorframe.

My eyes drop to what can only be considered an anaconda–or another snake of the large, and perhaps, venomous variety–inside the front of his boxers. They stretch to their ultimate potential around his massive thighs before my gaze crawls up to take in the rest of his body.

It’s obscene, really.

Pornographic, even.

A body like that–rippling with tight muscles, and his smooth, creamy skin with just the right smattering of hair so he looks like a man and not some hairless mutant–should not exist. It’s carved so perfectly, it seems to ridicule other men for their scrawny limbs and lack of armpit hair.

“Glad you like what you see, Doc.”

I’m snapped out of my daze when I meet his smiling, mischievous golden-green eyes. “Mr. Parker, please put on some clothes. We won’t be attending a nudist convention today.”

If it’s even possible, his grin widens. “Since you practicallybeggedme to strip down to nothing last week, I figured I’d be an overachiever and do it before you asked this time.”

“How very proactive of you, but I didn’t beg.”

“Oh, you most definitely begged. You said you wanted to use your hands and break my di–”

Before he can finish, I turn around to head back to the elevators, making my point crystal clear.

“Wait!” Rowan’s large palm wraps around my forearm, and it’s as if a live wire, buzzing with a heart-stopping current, has entrapped me. My entire body feels tingly from head to toe, making each hair stand on end.

With his brows pinched, Rowan stares at the spot where his skin touches mine, before he drops my wrist and brings his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I’ll put some gym shorts on. Will you wait for me inside?”

I reluctantly nod before entering his penthouse.

My eyes bounce from the floor-to-ceiling windows in his living room, with the most incredible views of Boston Harbor, before traveling across the light teak wood floors, and the modern furniture in pops of orange and blue. I release a soft snort as I take in the high-end chef’s kitchen, with the massive knife block and smaller appliances sitting on the beautiful marble countertops. Guarantee the man hasn’t used half the tools he’s got displayed here.

The penthouse is exactly where I’d expect a twenty-something, uber-rich sportsman to be living. But, I’ll give it to him, the bold pops of color all around are a surprising addition.

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