It was difficult to take her eyes off him. Happiness and contentment infused every cell of her body and she could’ve stayed for days just looking at him. She’d done it. She’d managed to find a way into his bed. Granted, he was currently passed out, hopefully dreaming sexy things about her, but still, here she was. Reclining next to him. Touching his face. His body. Surprisingly, he was almost tattoo free. His club symbol rested on his left pectoral muscle and the word ‘Freedom’ ran down his right side, from his armpit to his hip, in gothic script. The rest of his skin remained bare. A tan line separated his well-fitted jeans from his lower portion. She spread her fingers through the soft dusting of hair on his chest. She’d never been as glad of her shooting skills as she was this evening. It hadn’t been her intention to kill anyone, but a bullet in the right place had certainly maimed the Shanks enough to stop their attack. The idiots may have had the advantage, but they hadn’t been very smart about hiding.
