Still distracted by naked thoughts, he had only three of his shirt buttons undone when there was a quick knock on his change room door.
“Hey, heads up. I’m coming in.”
“You’re what?” Peter quickly plastered himself against the back wall of the small space to avoid get bashed in the nose with the door as it swung inward. Ana slipped in with him, wearing nothing but her jeans and a purple bra—not lace, but a shimmery satin that accentuated her golden skin.
She looked a hell of a lot better in living color than the picture his mind had been busy conjuring up.
“Holy hell, woman,” he whistled, forcing his eyes up to her face before he embarrassed himself, or did something stupid like push her up against the wall and bury his face between those perfect breasts. “What are you doing in here?”