"For the love of--" Exasperated huff. "Wake up!"
Devon McAteer was quite obviously a heavy sleeper. He lay spread out on his stomach in the middle of his bed. One great arm curved around a fluffy white pillow pressed over his head. Broad, tapered, and muscular, his back was accented with a fine indent, an intriguing line traveling down into the wrinkled white sheets tangled around his narrow hips and thick legs. The man was barely covered. His dark brown skin glowed like hot fudge drizzled over perfectly formed muscle and bone. One could only get a body like that from relentless effort, almost-insane dedication. It was the body of a star athlete, and the contrast of it against the pale sheets was nothing short of breathtaking.
"Come on, man! Wake up!"
Devon snored as loud as an old dump truck and was, metaphorically speaking, dead to the world. He was also--apparently--impervious to spoken commands. His watcher leaned over in one choppy movement to jerk the pillow from his grasp. "Get up!" she commanded again, irritation raising her voice. She refused to fail at this for the third time.
The snoring stopped. Devon raised one hand high in the air. It hung there, still and intriguing, for a long moment. The woman looked on curiously. The arm dropped again to grab another pillow to hold over his head. The snoring started almost absurdly soon after, like it had never stopped.
She stared at him. Her brain and some other parts of her body warred over whether she should figure out how to get him conscious or take advantage of the opportunity to study him up close and personal while he slept. Many women around the world, she knew, would kill for the opportunity to be in a bedroom like this with one of the most talented, famous, richest football players of the time ... or any man with a body like his.
Even though she couldn't see his face, she knew it well. Hell, most of the country knew his face. He wasn't the most handsome man she'd ever seen. His facial features struck one as common, plain, at first. Save for a nose clearly broken more than once. Still something about him invited friendliness and trust and ... desire. Wholly attractive, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why. Well, there was his body. Another long look and she had to stifle a sigh.
This situation called for drastic measures. She wrung her hands in anticipation, knowing what she had to do. The very thought caused a deep tingle in the pit of her stomach. Reaching over, she put her hands on a warm and meaty shoulder. Soft and hard at the same time, the feel of him beneath her palms was so sinfully nice she felt guilty. Get over it, girl, and do your job! She shook him as hard as she could.
Devon jumped up with a start, his eyes wild and disoriented. "Huh?"
He brushed at his face with his hands. His attention snapped to the intruder. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, though he seemed to be struggling to gain mental footing.
)
