Guilty Pleasure
she muttered, padding barefoot toward the bathroom.
Freshening up quickly, she made her way through the house, yawning, stretching, scanning. She found him in the backyard. She pushed open the French doors and instantly forgot how to breathe.
Ryan was shirtless, sweat gleaming across his chest and shoulders, muscles flexing with each movement. He wore only a pair of grey trousers that hung low on his hips, dangerously low, showing just enough of the sharp cut of his V-line to make her throat dry.
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