27
Sawyer wasn’t joking about the furniture. Upstairs in the master bedroom, there was nothing but a lamp, a side table, and a bed.
A big, freshly made bed.
Remy had about three seconds to take this in as Sawyer carried her over to the bed, setting her down only long enough to strip off his boots, shuck his shirt.
Reaching up, Remy ran her fingertips across the bare expanse of his muscular chest, her body warming with hunger for Sawyer.
Make that… her future husband.
“Why are you still dressed?” Sawyer asked, pulling her to the edge of the bed.
“We’ve got all the time in the world,” Remy said.
“Speak for yourself.”
He knelt to pull off her cowboy boots, his muscular torso rippling as he moved. She watched his shoulders jump and flex as he cast her boots aside, biting her lip.
Saw
