It was pitch-black but his other senses were making up for loss of vision and his imagination supplied the rest. His nose was in Axelle’s hair, and every inch of the front of his body was plastered to the back of hers. He realized his fingers were curled under her arm and clamped possessively over her breast. Her nipple pebbled against his palm—from cold, not desire, though his body couldn’t tell the difference. He tried to ignore his dick’s pathetically predictable reaction to waking up holding a beautiful woman and think about the next course of action instead. Follow the blood trail, checking for booby traps along the way. He shifted his knee, accidentally nudging her thigh forward and bringing his erection into direct contact with her arse—her very fine arse. He had seen her naked, and every glorious detail tortured him now. Most people—let alone someone who’d suffered what she’d been through—would have freaked out by now. The number of ways they could die was staggering.
