Page 73 of Baby It's Cold Outside

Pink lip between her teeth, a line of concentration on her brow, Evie grasped the front of his pants with the tongs and pulled. The catch loosened and released, and his pulse responded.

“And I should have changed into tight jeans,” he muttered.

Beaming, she stared at his erection, now patently visible beneath the fabric. Her voice was a breathless mix of awe and desire. “I’m so glad you didn’t.”

And then she gripped the zipper and pulled, the teeth mutinously giving up their position easily, and the scrape of metal sent a piercing thrill through his body. His gut clenched. Wes fisted his hand.

His pants fell, pooling around his feet.

Tongs in hand, Evie stepped back and admired her handiwork. “My luck has most definitely changed for the better.”

Heart pounding, Wes kept his gaze steady on hers. “Too bad I wear briefs,” he said, managing a wry tone.

“I’ll worry about those in a minute,” she said. “I’m still working out the problem of the buttons on your shirt.”

Despite his vulnerable position, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’m afraid ice tongs won’t do you much good there,” he said, leaning his hip against the marble counter.

Evie chewed on the corner of a full lip and set the tongs down. She opened a drawer and pulled out a tiny knife.

He let out a hiss. “Christ.”

She leaned in close, her hips lightly pressed against his, and his body screamed for him to press his erection firmly against her.

Evie slid the knife between the fabric and the top button, and Wes’s breathing grew harsh. “If this is sharp enough,” she said, her voice husky, her proximity robbing him of the ability to think, “your shirt doesn’t stand a chance.”

With time and a bit of pressure, the button gave, pinging to the floor and wrenching Wes’s heart. When she popped a second one, the urge to crush her in his arms grew stronger. Staring down at her, he forced his hands to remain at his side, fixing his stare on the tiny stud at her eyebrow.

“I was kidding,” he said, his voice gruff. His breaths came faster as she worked her way down.

“About what?” she said, sounding breathless herself.

“You never mentioned kitchen utensils.”

“Too late for a confession, Harvard,” she said.

More buttons popped and hit the floor with a tick.

More of Wes’s restraint lapsed. Until, finally, his shirt hung open in front. He was faring remarkably well, despite the crippling desire, until Evie spoke again.

“My God, Wes,” she whispered. “Your chest is beautiful.”

And when she placed those soft lips on his pectoral muscle, desire skewered his groin so sharply, Wes couldn’t help it.

He let out an agonized groan.

Wes closed his eyes and concentrated on his harsh breaths as her mouth headed from one side of his chest to the other, trailing damp, openmouthed kisses along the way.

Much more of this and he couldn’t be held accountable for his actions.

“Evie,” he said. “You might get more than you bargained for.”

Her lips on his skin twisted the achy pleasure higher, cranking his agonized need tighter.

“I’m hoping I do.” Evie leaned back, sounding remarkably focused given the pulse bounding at her neck. “Though I still have the problem with your underwear.”

With a determined light in her eye, she carefully slipped the tip of the blade beneath one leg of his briefs. He struggled to restrain the blunt curse, chest heaving as she lifted the knife. But instead of cutting, the fabric stretched, refusing to split as it strained against his aching shaft. Frustrated desire firmly gripped his groin. And all the blood left his brain and headed south, to support more urgently needy areas. He clenched his teeth, praying she wouldn’t find a way.

Praying that she would.

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