Chapter 29

“All right, I’m going.” I looked back at him, and then straight ahead and drew in a sharp breath.

There he was—finally—the guy I’d been fantasizing about for weeks, down on his hands and knees in mulch the color of good maple syrup. Shirtless, his sweaty, muscular, arched back shimmered in the sunlight. Biceps and forearms rippled from holding much of his weight on one arm as he toiled with the other. The soles of his feet were dark, as if wearing shoes wasn’t a regular part of his lifestyle. He didn’t have any on right then, in fact. A pair of flip flops had been left behind just to the edge of the flowerbed. One leg forward, the other back, like a race horse caught mid-run, his khaki cargo shorts pulled tight around his thighs. It was the stark whiteness of the top of his ass, uncovered as they rode quite low, that drew my attention even more.

Major cleared his throat.