Rowan's POV
I didn’t know how long I’d been standing there like an i***t, staring at the sofa where she’d just been sitting, trying to get my breathing under control. The imprint of her, the warmth of her body on my lap, the way her hand had pressed against my stomach, those sensations hadn’t faded. If anything, they burned hotter the more I tried to ignore them.
When she ran off to hide that ridiculous little scrap of lace, I dropped onto the armchair and exhaled sharply. I needed a distraction fast. Something, anything, to focus on that was not the feel of her palm sliding over my abs or the sight of her face going bright red the moment she noticed what she’d done to me.
So I pulled out my phone.
I typed: “Why do some women refuse to touch abs?”
I stared at it. It looked
