He folds his arms over his broad chest and waits quietly, patiently, his fierce gaze locked on me, his lips parted.

“You, too.” His pant legs are soaked.

“You first,” he fires back, his eyes burning.

The cabin is dead silent, save for the drumbeat of rain. He’s holding his breath, I realize.

With a deep swallow and a sudden case of nerves, I collect the hem of my long shirt and slide it up over my torso, over my chest, curling my arms to get it past my head.

Goose bumps erupt all over my skin as Jonah’s eyes drift downward over my white lace bra, down over my flat stomach.

He holds out a hand and I toss my shirt to him. And still he waits without a word.

I kick off my rain boots and cast them aside, and then, curling my thumbs under the waistband of my leggings, I peel them away, shimmying the wet cotton down my legs and off my ankles, my socks going with them.

Jonah’s eyes climb up my body and then drift again, stalling several times. “You’re cold.”

“Yeah.” Even though every inch of my skin feels like it’s on fire under his gaze.

“Better hurry up and finish, then,” he murmurs with a crooked smile, my clothes dangling from his grip.

We both know that my undergarments are dry. Well, dry as far as the rain is concerned.

I feel light-headed as I reach back to unclasp my bra, letting it loosen and slide from my arms. “These are real, by the way,” I murmur stupidly as cool air skates across my pebbled nipples.

His jaw clenches. “I see that.”

I take a deep breath and then pluck away the elastic band at my hips, letting the skimpy lace fall to the floor.

“Fuck,” he hisses. And then he’s heading for the line, rushing to stretch and clip my things up with the available clothespins, while I stand in the cool, dark cabin, trying to fight the urge to curl my arms around myself. Something tells me Jonah prefers confidence.

“In the bed. Now,” he mutters, and my heart begins to pound in my chest. I’ve never been with a guy who demands things like that. I never thought I’d find it a turn-on.

I drop to my knees on the foam pad—the width of a twin -mattress—and pull the fully unzipped sleeping bag over my body, and then I quietly watch Jonah yank off his boots and socks.

He reaches over his head to peel his shirt off and I gasp as I get my first view of Jonah’s broad back, his olive-toned skin stretched across muscle that fans out from his spine and toward his shoulder blades.

He turns and gives me an equally impressive view of his chest, coated in a fine dusting of ash-blond hair that continues downward, into a long, dark trail that disappears under his belt.

I stare unabashed as he unfastens his belt and buckle with confidence, pushing everything off with one move.

A light gasp slips from my lips as I take the sight of him in, feeling my eyes widen. Those unflattering baggy jeans hide the fact that his legs are thick and long and muscular, and coated with more of that ash-blond hair.

And that all of him is as well proportioned.

I feel my legs begin to part of their own volition.

I have to peel my eyes upward as Jonah strolls toward me, his smile wicked and cocky. God, I’ve come to love that smile. It vanishes just as quickly, though, the moment he’s settling his massive body down onto the tiny pad next to me, lifting the cover off my naked body to make room for himself beneath it.

His bare skin is hot against mine and yet I shiver.

How have we gone from one surprise hallway kiss this morning to this? I am not this girl, I don’t move this fast. And yet here I am, edging in closer to him, freely accepting his arm as he slides it beneath my head, welcoming his lips as they pry open my mouth, all while my heart pounds in my ears.

I drag my long fingernails over his beard for the first time, occupying myself with the delicious, scratchy feel of it while he seems eager to occupy himself with my body. Anticipation skitters along my spine, acutely aware of his hard length against my outer thigh as he toys with strands of my hair, before pressing his hand flat against my throat.

“Can’t say I expected this turn of events,” he murmurs, slowly smoothing his palm over my collarbone, over the contour of my left breast, stalling there a long moment before continuing down my stomach, my pelvis, farther . . . as far as he can reach, showing no hesitation as he seemingly memorizes my curves.

My breath hitches as that hand slides between my legs. He touches me far more gently than I thought him capable.

“You’re nervous,” he murmurs, his coarse fingers unexpectedly soft as they sink into me.

“No, I’m not,” I lie behind a whisper and a kiss.

“Why are you nervous?”

I hesitate. “Because it’s the first time?” It sounds like a question.

He seizes my bottom lip between his teeth playfully, before releasing it. “And that’s the only reason?”

Do I admit the truth right now? That Jonah can be intimidating at times, that I’ve felt the strokes of his judgmental brush before and it wasn’t pleasant, and now I’m in a far more vulnerable position to be judged.

He pulls away to peer down at me, his hand pausing its ministrations, his blue eyes shrewd as they study mine. “You know you’re perfect, right?”

“Oh, of course I know that,” I joke with faux confidence, trying to hide the fact that he’s guessed at the real reason behind my nerves. “But I’m not your type. You know, blonde and leggy.”