60

Reese

“W hat?” My jaw hangs open as soon as the words are out of his mouth. He can’t be serious. Can he?

He’s scanning my face for a reaction, one corner of his full sensual lips twisted cynically. Part of me wants to see him smile. For years, I’ve followed his career, as starting quarterback, team captain, and leader of the team’s defense, and seen hundreds of photos of him in gossip magazines, always with his arm wrapped around the waists of anonymous Barbie-like women, a big grin plastered across his face.

None of the photographs have done him justice.

In real life, he’s a badass magnetic hunk of a man. Power and animal attraction radiate out of him in waves strong enough to knock out an ox. His eyes are the color of wet grass and they glow in his deeply tanned face. His nose is straight and his jaw is strong and chiseled, as if out of solid granite. Did I hear wrong? Did he actually ask me… to strip for him? Why? When he has all those beauties at his beck and call.

“You heard me.”