Page 91 of Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad World

“Oh.” Her brow puckered with concern. “Poor baby.”

Adorable.

He angled his head to capture her mouth but sucked in a breath when he felt her hands on the fastening of his jeans. He backed off to kneel beside her.

“Too fast,” he said, feeling lightheaded. “We need to slow down. I don’t want to miss any stops on this journey.”

“Okay.” She knelt up to face him. “What’s the next step?”

“Well, I’d say that shirt of yours needs to come off.” He reached out and unfastened a button on her faded plaid shirt. Then another. And another. His eyes met hers. “You’re not wearing a bra.” His awe felt like that of a teenager. It would have been embarrassing if anyone had been there to witness his reaction.

Annabelle gasped. “I’m not?” She finished unbuttoning the shirt and stared down at her perfect breasts. “How did that happen?” Wicked, amused eyes met his. “I apologize for the oversight.”

“Just don’t let it happen again,” Noah said solemnly, cupping her breasts and flicking his thumbs over taut nipples.

“I’ll try not to.” She groaned as she leaned into him, seeking his mouth with hers. He gave it willingly.

His hands slid down her rounded stomach to the button on her jeans. He fumbled. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m out of practice. I’ll get better.”

“Noah.” She reached down to help him. “I’ve slept with two men. I don’t exactly have a lot of experience, but I remember the fundamentals. We’ll be fine.”

“Two is one more than my total,” he confessed.

“Men?” she grinned widely. “Noah Merchant, you dark horse.”

His cheeks heated. “You know what I mean. I’ve only ever slept with Therese.” He shook his head and admitted, “I’m kinda nervous.”

“Would it help if I gave instructions as we went?” She batted her lashes at him. “Maybe sketched some diagrams?”

“Smart-ass.” He leaned forward and nipped her bottom lip.

Her laughter made him feel as if he were floating. “Stop worrying. We know what we’re doing, and it will be fine.”

“I was aiming for a little better than fine,” he grumbled.

“Too much talk, not enough action.” She unzipped his jeans and slid her hand inside.

The ability to speak immediately left Noah as her small hand wrapped around him. All he could do was groan.

“That’s more like it,” she said, leaning in to nibble at his throat.

Annabelle was giddy. She’d wanted Noah almost from the first moment she’d seen him, even though it’d been through a haze of self-medication. He had the rough, weary look of a battle-worn warrior. One who’d keep on fighting despite desperately needing to rest. Not physical rest, but emotional. Noah Merchant had carried far too much for far too long.

And all it’d taken to get his full attention was for her to shove her hand down his pants. Good to know. She smiled against the thick, muscled column of his neck. He was built to fight. There was nothing soft or pretty or choreographed about him. He wasn’t some self-obsessed actor playing the part of a defender. Noah’s instinct to use his body as a protective wall was hardwired into his DNA. You could sense it in every taut muscle and every ugly scar that marked him.

Annabelle toppled him onto his back and then scampered down his body, taking his clothes with her. Noah helped by kicking off his boots so she could slip his jeans over his feet. Now that she had him naked, she sat back on her heels and looked her fill. She was right. His character was written on his skin.

“So many scars.” She ran her fingertips over a recent one—a line where a bullet had cut a channel on the outside of his thigh.

He shrugged. “Never intended to take up modeling, anyway. You’re still wearing too many clothes. I don’t think that’s fair.”

“You’re right. And we’re all about the fairness.” Annabelle stood on the bed and stripped off her clothes without any fanfare. This wasn’t a seductive performance; she just wanted the damn things gone. At last, she stood naked, straddling his ankles, the cool air caressing her exposed skin.

His hungry and appreciative gaze ran the length of her body, lingering here and there with heady appreciation. “You’d really suit a belly button ring,” he said, surprising her. “Something in rose gold to bring out the warm tones in your satin skin.”

“Noah,” she breathed as his words wove images in her mind.

He flexed and sat up in one smooth motion, making his abs ripple and her mouth water. His hands clasped her hips as he nuzzled her rounded belly. Annabelle loved her curves; she’d never wanted a flat stomach—unless it came with a six-pack and a man attached.