She had on one of those pajama sets that his mother always bought his cousins for Christmas, but had never seen any of theirs in that shade of pale pink, or that sheer.

Her nipples pressed against the fabric in tight little points, and the only way any male wouldn’t have noticed was if he were dead. And Asher wasn’t dead. He definitely wasn't, judging by the way his cock twitched as he stared at her.

They were the color of cinnamon, the exact color they had been in his dreams, which made ...