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“It was on the towel rack!”

I tried not to laugh—I really did.

“You’re an asshole!” She shoved me.

I doubled over, laughing until my lungs burned.

“You done yet?”

I drew a deep breath and straightened to my full height, looking down at her.

I’d seen her in a pair of panties before in dim lamplight, but never fully bared to me.

My gaze climbed her tanned legs, pausing at the ink on her thigh before moving higher. I didn’t linger on the fine dusting of hair at the apex of her thighs. Instead, my eyes traced the lines of her toned stomach to her full breasts, framed by wet waves cascading over her shoulders. My gaze caught on the gleam of metal piercing both nipples.

When her arms came up to shield her breasts from my view, her hands gripping her biceps in a protective gesture, my head jerked up, and I met her vulnerable stare.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, ashamed of how long I leered at her like a pervert.

Her body was a work of art, but I had no right to it.

Turning from her, I marched into the bathroom, picked up the discarded towel from the floor, and shook it out. Seeing no bugs, I brought it back into the bedroom and extended it to her, keeping my eyes trained on the bedside lamp.

She pulled the towel out of my hand. After a minute, she said, “You can look now.”

I turned to find her staring at me in wonder, wrapped in the towel.

“You really wouldn’t hurt me, would you?”

My lips parted. “What? Why would I ever hurt you?”

She shook her head. “I’m still coming to terms with the whole ‘not all infernals are bad’ mentality.” She ran her hand over her bare arm.

“What made you say that?”

She looked up at me. “What?”

“Hurting you.”

“Oh. Because I was standing here naked, and the way you looked at me…”

“The way I looked at you?”

She bit the edge of her lower lip, glancing away. “Like you wanted me.” She scoffed. “It was a stupid thought. I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

I stepped forward and captured her chin with the side of my index finger and thumb, turning her face up. Her breath hitched. “Don’t misunderstand me.” I smoothed the pad of my thumb across her lower lip. “If you think I don’t desire every inch of you, you’re mistaken.” I lowered my hand. “But I have no right to look at you in such a vulnerable state when you haven’t invited it.”

“Haven’t invited it?”

“Yes,” I whispered, taking her hands in mine. “If you feel you need to hide yourself from my eyes, then I have no right to ask for more.”

She swallowed, and her fingers curled around my hands. “You want me though?”

She sounded so unsure it shook me.

What had this woman endured to feel unworthy of someone who didn’t intend to harm her? Her soft voice carried vulnerability and disbelief. I felt her insecurity through my very being. That she’d need to ask…

“If only you could feel what you do to me.”