Page 174 of The Love Operation

What if I walk in and he’s in the middle of an orgy?

I take a deep breath, banish the orgy visual, and walk up to the front door. Then I ease open the gorgeous wood and glass.

And I am not prepared for how I find him.

I nearly drop the cooler. And my panties.

Benedict is shirtless.

His torso gleams with sweat, every flexed muscle etched like a particularly evocative sculpture come to life. All sinew and heat, he lifts a French door into place like it weighs nothing. There’s a pencil tucked behind his ear. And he’s completely unaware that he is absolutely wrecking me.

Hot. Damn. Manual labor never looked so good.

I remain still, watching. Salivating.

There’s something about the way he moves—focused, unhurried, completely at ease in his body. His hands know exactly what they’re doing. His muscles shift beneath his skin like they were built for this exact task.

It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

My heart’s pounding—not from nerves, but from certainty. I’m ready—finally—to reach for this future.

And what a fine-looking future it is.

I lean against the doorway and let my voice cut through the quiet. “Nicely hung.”

He turns, and when his eyes find mine, my chest tightens. That grin—slow, stunned, radiant, like he’s not sure I’m real—it’s everything.

“Cord?” His gaze rakes over me, eyes flickering with surprise, with something else too—hope, maybe. Definitely warmth. He licks his lips. “Was that a compliment . . . or a proposition?”

I cock my head and bite my lip. “A suggestion, maybe.” I step forward. “I told you that you’d be the first person I told.”

His face breaks into a wide grin. “Chief? You got it?”

The excitement in his voice makes me feel like I could fly.

I lift the cooler. “Thought we could celebrate.”

“Absolutely. I wish I’d known you were coming. I would’ve . . . done something.”

“Trust me, what you were doing just now is . . . great.”

He blushes. And I realize I may not survive this if he doesn’t put on a shirt.

“What did you bring?” he asks, gesturing for me to follow. “Please don’t tell me it’s body parts.”

“The only body parts I brought are mine.” Then I pat the cooler. “Banana splits.”

He stops, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Celebratory banana splits.”

There’s a light in his eyes. He gets it. He’s here for it.

“Come on,” he says. “We’ll eat outside.”

“Sounds lovely. But . . . could you put on a shirt?”

He looks genuinely confused for a second, then his grin grows wicked. “Can’t handle it?”

“Nope. Not gonna lie. I don’t remember your . . .” I swallow, gesturing vaguely at his chest. “Midsection looking so . . . Renaissance. It’s unfairly distracting.”