Page 31 of Fashionista's Playbook

God, I wanted to make her blush like that when she was naked under me. “You like inked up guys, Mariposa?’ I sure the hell hoped so.

“I like the idea of the bonus you’re going to give me when they pay you for doing this.” She didn’t turn around. But her voice cracked.

I battled down the eagerness that surged through me at the sound.

“I mean, I can walk around shirtless more often and you can get all the ink you need—”

“Don’t—” She squeaked, and she tossed a hand up in the air, as if she were waving a white flag.

“Yes ma’am.” The laugh fluttered up. I wouldn’t push it with Moriah, but if she made a move on me, all bets were off.

Prowling in front of the couch now, I grabbed the old football from the end table and played a game of toss and catch with myself. I couldn’t stop grinning, like a stupid lovesick kid. Moriah was attracted to me.

I hadn’t imagined that look she’d given me that night in my kitchen, when I’d wanted to kiss her so bad. “Do I get my own Speedo?”

“I’m sure.” She sat at her desk, tossing the sample suit on the corner. Her fingers clicked across the keys of her laptop.

“Can you check what sizes they have? That one ain’t gonna cut it.”

“I think they’re one size fits all.” But she looked it up anyway, still avoiding eye contact, and clicked a few keys. “I was wrong, they have sizes.”

She stood, dug around in her pocket for something with one hand and gestured at me with the other. “Turn around, let me take some measurements.”

“Of course you have a tape measure in your pocket.” But I was teasing.

“And you have a football in your hands.” She gave me a pointed look.

Being playful, kept my mind on how problematic it was going to be to have Moriah take my measurements. I had them already, saved to my phone for the guy who made most of my suits.

But I wasn’t going to turn down a reason to get her hands on me. Even if that made me a bad boy.

To keep from thinking about her touch, I focused on plays.

“Hold your arms out.” She wrapped the tape around my chest and pinched it off.

She dropped it and took a step back. “Pull your shirt up some.”

“I thought you told me not to do that?” I did as instructed and fought to ignore her feather light touch as it grazed across my waist, then up and around my chest.

We had a female trainer, who was freaking amazing, and she got up close and personal with the entire team. I’d never once been aroused because she touched me. But Moriah didn’t need to measure my chest, to take her time and brush her knuckles down my sides.

I could point that out, but I wouldn’t. Because I liked it. A little too much.

She moved to measure down, wrapping the tape around my hips and straight across my groin. Though she pinched it off at the side, not the front as she had been doing.

If her fingers had come that close to touching me there—I’d have embarrassed myself.

She stood slowly and caught me staring at her. She stalled, and something shifted in her gaze. I imagined her leaning forward, brushing her lips against my collarbone and then following the path her hands had taken only seconds before.

Abruptly, I stepped back and toward the couch before I did something we’d both regret.

“Okay, if we go by hip and waist measurements, you’ll need a large. Any specific color?”

No mention of my chest, where her touch had lingered.

Insulted, I snarled my lip. “A large? Moriah, that ain’t gonna work.”

She turned to me with a quizzical look. “Your measurements—”

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