Page 23 of Red Zone
He had a massive three thousand-foot penthouse apartment on Lakeside Avenue.
Rory was already more familiar with his place than she’d like to admit. Drugged up Bowen had given her a tour of everything, from his man cave AKA Madden-videogame room to the Tom Hanks room, the Jacuzzi tub (she’d locked that door off the man cave just in case he tried to climb in), and his massive shower.
“Do you need a tour? This is the living room.”
“You gave me one last time.” He had shared plenty of Tom Hanks trivia at the time and had a verbal debate with him arguing whether he could play Madden with one hand.
“Good.” He unzipped her jacket and then his own, tossing them both on the floor.
Without waiting for any more comments, he pulled her in for a kiss, even though they were both still in multiple layers of winter gear.
His mouth was everything she remembered and dreamed of. There was nothing gentle or sweet about it. Four months of minimal contact had really pushed them past any anticipated attempt to go slowly.
She had no clue who was devouring who here. It was a medical certainty that he was an amazing specimen of a man mountain created for her tofreaking climb. Every foot, every inch of his inked skin was hers to touch—her hands, her mouth—all hers.
They left a trail of gloves, boots,and hats through the living room,and she did her best to touch every part of his arms shecould.
He must have felt her hesitate on his right deltoid as he sucked on the side of her neck below her ear. “Don’t hold back. Nothing you can do will hurt me.”
Rory passed a hand over the front of his sweatpants, and Bowen responded with a guttural hiss. “Nothing?”
“Nothing, unless you stop.”
CHAPTER13
They crashed into the hallway wall mid-kiss, and he apparently took decisive action by swinging her up into his arms. Bowen carried her directly to his master bedroom, still dropping kisses on her clothed shoulders.
Visibly adjusting his strength, he set her on the bed with great care and in an equally controlled swift motion whipped off her offending long-sleeved Browns T-shirt and leggings. Then he took a long stride back and yanked his own fitness T-shirt over his head.
Rory had no issues with admitting that she stared. While she’d seen him naked to mostlynaked before, he’d always been out ofbounds. The game changed a lotwhen he was in play. Her professional and personal eyewere one in this because he was sculpted to the ultimate female fantasy—nothing but muscle, muscle, muscle, and tattoos. Every line, every fiber of his being was taut, starving, and waiting for her touch.
Hers. Hers. Hers.
Made for her. Unyielding, intense, even after being broken.
Not even the bruises from holding up the awning marred this perfection.
Yet not touching her.
She glanced down at her sports bra and underwear, both of them simple and black. “Sorry, if I had thought we might be... I’d have found lace somewhere.”
Sexy underwear was not her regular. Not very useful in the OR unless you’d been watching too muchGrey’s Anatomy.Thongs were terribly useless during a twelve-hour spinal fusion surgery.
“No, no. You’re beautiful—perfect, actually.” He was breathing the same way he did right before he lined up for a play to sack the quarterback.
“I’m not fragile. I’ve always been a tomboy. I wake up four times a week and do box jumps and push-ups in my call room. Nobody wants a flabby orthopedic surgeon.”
She was one of the few women surrounded by smart guys who’d also been jocks. She needed to be ready to compete with them and out-compete them every day of the week and twice on any given Sunday.
“I can tell.” He still didn’t move.
For a second, she felt insecure. The woman Bowen had intended to hook up with had been a solid six inches taller than her own five foot three, and Rory’s curves were nothing to write home about. Not flat, not curvy. Her chest was maybe a solid B.
“Then what’s the issue?”
“Well.”
“Wait, are you shy?” She was raring to go, and he hadn’t taken off his sweatpants.
