Page 32 of Theirs to Treasure

“Oh no,” he murmurs. “None of that. Watch me looking at you.” He eases a finger down the column of my throat. “I want you to see what it looks like when a man appreciates you and treats you as if he’ll never let you go.”

CHAPTERNINE

Harper

“Look at me, precious.”

Compelled by Forrest’s soft request, I comply, and breath vanishes from my lungs.

Approval is written in the depths of his blue eyes, and that kind of emotion can’t be faked.

How will I ever go back to my real life after this?

As I nervously curl my hands, he sweeps my dress up and off.

And then I’m standing in front of him, wearing only skimpy panties and a bra.

“Sweet God.”He sucks in a harsh breath. “You’re gorgeous. Curves in all the right places.”

Tension I hadn’t realized I’d been holding drains, and my shoulders relax.

“That’s it. Own who you are, in all your goddamn womanly beauty.”

“I…”

“Own it,” he demands. “Be proud of your body.”

Okay. I can do this.Tentatively, I say, “Thank you.”

“Much, much better.” He rewards me with a sensual grin.

Then he steps aside, and I see that Zev is studying me as well, arms folded, head angled to one side. “He’s right, sweet princess. About everything.”

How can I argue with two of them?

Forrest places my dress over the back of the couch while Zev walks behind me. “We want to uncover all your secrets,” he says against my ear as he reaches for my bra strap.

He doesn’t fumble, not even for a fraction of a second, and I shove aside thoughts about his sensual skill set.

I’m under no illusions.

This is a one-night stand, where they’ll pull my V-card and hopefully give me orgasms.

Tomorrow we’ll all go back to our regular lives.

I’ll look back on this moment and remember it forever.

But to them, this is another fun, Vegas evening that doesn’t mean anything.

“You okay?” Zev asks.

How is he so attuned to my reactions?

“I’m fine.”

He brushes my hair to one side to kiss my nape, effectively chasing away my wayward thoughts.

With the fastening now open, I inhale sharply, instinctively covering myself.