Billie.
I shifted, searching for an opening. Some fraction of a second where his guard might drop. My palms were slick with sweat. His stance was loose but perfect, eyes tracking every micro-movement.
My mind raced, frantically. He’s strong and tough. But he’s still a man.. and every man has a weakness.
I remembered the living room earlier. His gaze had lingered on the slip of my top for a second. An idea clicked.
I took a slow deep breath, reached up and gathered the loose strands into a messy bun. The motion pulled the neckline of my sweater sideways, loosening the fabric. The soft wool slipped off one shoulder, sliding down to expose the smooth dip of my collarbone, the gentle line of my neck, the skin where shoulder met throat.
I saw a subtle shift in his eyes.
A flicker dow
