Читать книгу Cold Feet at Christmas - Debbie Johnson, Debbie Johnson - Страница 10

“Now that,” Leah said as she woke up, her tousled blonde head poking its way out from the duvet, “is a mighty fine view.”

Rob was standing at the window, staring out into the fields. Completely naked. Those broad shoulders, bulked biceps; the smooth skin of his back rippling with lean muscle as he turned to smile at her. Tapered waist; the powerful length of his thighs. And right in the middle, the cherry on top of the pie, that utterly breath-taking backside. What a body. The kind she’d never seen anywhere but a movie screen before now.

She’d got to know every inch of it over the last three days. In great and glorious detail. The bag she had with her was intended for hand luggage, and contained a bumper pack of condoms tucked away for the honeymoon that never was. Another little Christmas miracle, and one that allowed them both to explore each other in ways that had left them tingling and exhausted. Three days of unparalleled pleasure, cocooned in their cottage in the snow.

“There’s been a thaw,” he said, turning to walk back over to the bed. Lord, he was magnificent. Every abdominal an awesome outline; every movement perfectly graceful; every flash of those dark brown eyes enough to make her wet. In a good way.

“You might,” he said, climbing into bed next to her, “be able to leave soon. And I need to get back to work.”

“Oh, well,” said Leah, rolling next to him and reaching across to trace the hard contours of his muscled chest. Hard and muscled but covered in the most gorgeous velvety skin she’d ever touched. It hardly seemed fair it should belong to a man. “That’s good news.”