LARA
I could look away. Truly, I could. But who in their right mind would? A man of that stature—tall, lean, carved like sin—was striding toward me, naked. Not even the shadows could save me from the sight.
He wasn’t just walking. He owned the night with every step, his muscles flexing like poetry carved in stone. The moon glinted off the sharp cut of his abs—eight, no, maybe ten. Every inch of him was a study in perfection, like anatomy sculpted by an obsessive god. And I, unfortunate student of biology, was practically salivating.
My throat turned into a barren wasteland, tongue glued to the roof of my mouth. I licked my lips without realizing it.
“Seeing something you like?” he purred. That voice—rich, slow, amused—curled around my spine like smoke.
Caught. His gaze pinned me like
