God, he wanted her. He had for a long, long time.
He licked his lips against the cold as she reappeared, wearing a black bra and low-slung black jeans. God, she was beautiful. Nearly perfect in those tight pants. “Strip ’em, Jenna,” he muttered under breath that fogged through his insulated mask. Her breasts nearly fell from the sexy black undergarment. But she headed into her bathroom and he readjusted the lens as she leaned over a sink and applied lipstick and mascara. He saw her backside, that sweet, sweet ass straining against the black denim as she leaned closer to the mirror and within that smooth glass surface, he stared at her wide eyes, silvery green and rimmed in thick black lashes. For a second she seemed to catch his eye, to look right at him and she hesitated, mascara wand in hand. Little lines appeared between her arched eyebrows, a hint of worry. As if she knew. Her eyes narrowed and his heart pounded hard against his ribs.
Turning quickly, she stared out the window, to the gathering darkness and the snow now falling steadily. Was it fear he saw in her hazel eyes? Premonition?
“Just you wait,” he whispered, his voice lost in the shriek of the wind, the snow becoming thick enough that her image was blurred, his erection suddenly rock-hard as he imagined what he would do to her.
But that instant of fear was gone and her lips pulled into a half smile, as if she’d been foolish. She flipped off the bathroom light, then headed back to her bedroom. She yanked a sweater from her bed and pulled it over her head. For a few seconds he felt ecstasy, watching as her arms uplifted and for a heartbeat she was blindfolded and trapped in the garment, but then her head poked through a wide cowl neck and her arms slid through the sweater’s sleeves. She pulled her rope of hair from the neckline and walked quickly out of view, snapping the lights off as she entered the hallway.
Hot desire zinged through his blood at the thought of her.
Beautiful.
Arrogant.
Proud.
And soon, very soon, to be brought to her knees.