Savannah's Secrets. Reese Ryan
made him want to run the silky strands between his fingers. To wrap them around his fist as he tugged her mouth to his.
Absent cosmetics, Savannah’s freshly-scrubbed, freckled skin took center stage. She was the kind of beautiful that couldn’t be achieved with a rack of designer dresses or an expensive makeup palette.
Her natural glow was refreshing.
Seeing Savannah barefaced and fresh out of the shower felt intimate. She’d let down her guard and bared a little of her soul to him.
Blake’s heart raced and his skin tingled with a growing desire for this woman. His hands clenched at his sides, aching to touch her.
He fought back the need to taste the skin just below her ear. To nip at her full lower lip. To nibble on the spot where her neck and shoulder met.
Blake snapped his mouth shut when he realized he must look like a guppy in search of water.
“Hey.” Savannah’s eyes twinkled as she tried to hold back a grin. “Where are Sam and Benny?”
“I put them downstairs in the den. Didn’t want to torture them with the food or annoy you with Benny’s begging. One look at that sad face and I’m a goner.” He nodded toward the orange-and-white University of Tennessee shirt she was wearing. “I see the shirt fit. Kind of.”
Savannah held her arms out wide and turned in a circle, modeling his alma mater gear. “It’s a little big, but I think I made it work.”
That’s for damn sure.
The hem of the shirt skimmed the tops of her thighs and hugged her curvy breasts and hips like a warm caress.
Blake was incredibly jealous of that T-shirt. He’d give just about anything to be the one caressing those undulating curves. For his body to be the only thing covering hers.
The too-long sleeves hung past her fingertips. Savannah shoved them up her forearms. She lifted one foot, then the other, as she pulled the socks higher up her calves. Each time, she unwittingly offered a generous peek of her inner thigh.
Blake swallowed hard. The words he formed in his head wouldn’t leave his mouth.
“Smells good. What’s for dinner?” She didn’t remark on his odd behavior, for which he was grateful.
“I had some leftover ham and rice.” He turned back to the stove and stirred the food that was beginning to stick to the pan. “So I fried an egg and sautéed a few vegetables to make some ham-fried rice.”
“You made ham-fried rice?”
There was the look he’d often seen on her face. Like a war was being waged inside her head and she wasn’t sure which side to root for.
“Yep.” Blake plated servings for each of them and set them on the dining room table, where he’d already set out a beer for himself and a glass of wine for her. He pulled out her chair.
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