Page 9 of Falling for the Recluse

“Fit looks fine,” he murmurs. “Is this silk?”

“Yes. I have some heavier base layers to wear in the field.”

“Good.” He continues rubbing the silk as though he’s assessing its quality.

He’s so close I can smell him. Nothing remotely like the unwashed, stale odor I’d half expected from a scientist who lives alone and goes for months without seeing another person.

Oh, not at all like that. Instead, Dr. Stark smells like musk, fresh wood, and spices—warm, smoky things like cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves.

His delicious scent slides right inside me, pooling heat in my lower body. I squeeze my thighs together slightly, wishing I could writhe against something and ease the growing ache.

“If you…” I swallow hard. I’m starting to shake. “If you need to see my underwear, I have to take off these layers.”

“Yes, you do.” He grips the hem of my shirt and tugs it up over my torso.

I lift my arms as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to be standing in Antarctica while a renowned ice scientist takes off my clothes.

But god in heaven, I don’t want to be anywhere else. Or doing anything else. Orwithanyone else. My body is doing things it’s never done around a man before. Throbbing. Clenching.Quivering.

He tosses the shirt to the floor. The temperate indoor air hits my bare skin like a blast. Goose bumps prickle over my arms.

Dr. Stark’s breath is audible, fresh tension winding through his muscles. He slides his gaze over my silver pendant necklace, locking on my cleavage swelling over my blue bra with the little satin bow right in the center. My nipples are blatantly hard, protruding against the flimsy material.

“I don’t think that’s regulation.” His voice is strained.

“There wasn’t anything in the handbook about regulation underwear.” I hook my fingers into the waistband of my thermal pants, hardly able to believe I’m actually doing this. “At least, not that I can recall. But you’d better check my panties too, just to make sure.”

I slither the pants over my hips and thighs, bending to pull them off my legs. As I’m straightening, my eyes catch the front of Dr. Stark’s jeans…and the very prominent bulge pressing against his fly.

A fresh bolt of heat goes through me so fast and hard that I almost gasp. I push my pants aside with my foot, sharply aware of his hot gaze sliding from my breasts to my pink cotton underwear decorated with little bunches of cherries.

I suddenly wish that my lingerie was coordinated—in material at least, if not color—but I’ve never been a girl who matched clothes or anything else really.

Not that Dr. Stark seems to care. The lust radiating from him is tangible. His scent grows stronger as if intensified by the magnetic heat coursing between us.

“Are they regulation?” I ask.

“Not sure.” He skims his fingers over my belly.

I draw in a sharp breath. His fingertips are deliciously calloused, the rough pads sending tingles shooting across every nerve. I shift my thighs together and bite back a moan.

“How do we find out?” I whisper.

“We have to take them off.” He slides his forefinger along the waistband, his eyes locked on my breasts. “And check the label.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I’m losing focus. My knees are weak. He’stouchingme. Slowly, teasingly, he runs his finger back and forth across my waistband as if he has all the time in the world—which maybe he does.

But god. He’s a wall of masculine strength and heat just inches from me. I desperately want to step forward, press my body to his, and feel my breasts crushing against his chest.

“Is this lesson number two?” I ask.

“Only if you want it to be.” He pauses, giving me the chance to back away.

Which is the last thing in the world I want to do.

“I think we might’ve jumped way ahead in the curriculum, but I do need to learn.” I ease closer to him. “Soyes.”

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