Free Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1) by Noelle Bodhaine

mindlessly with the golden strands. Her face is bright and flushed, glowing maybe. I am frozen to the spot, shocked and confused. Kylie steps around me, leaving the door open behind her.
    “Oh, hey , Sophie, Rhys is in the shower, you can go on in. See you tonight.” She dashes into the waiting elevator, jogging in place while setting her iPod. I am left standing in the doorway, dumbstruck by what just happened.
    Why did he spend the night in my room if he had Kylie waiting for him? What sort of game is he playing? My fight or flight instinct begins to take hold and as always I lean towards flight. The internal struggle rages as I try to reason with my inner cynic. There has to be a reasonable explanation for why she was here. Or maybe the reasonable explanation would explain away why he was with me last night. The bile rising in my throat is the nudge I need. I spin on my heel to make a break for it when Rhys steps out of the master bathroom. Good Lord! He is wrapping a fluffy white towel around his well-defined waist when he catches me in his sights.
    “Sophie.” A crooked smile spreads across his face, erasing every thought in my mind. His hard body dripping still with rivulets of lucky water, his torso is dusted with dark hair, accentuating every plane of tight muscle, he steps through the French doors into the living area. His arms ripple and flex as he dries his hair, revealing a slight curl, and tosses the towel onto the chair. He could make David weep in jealousy. His body is tight and dripping with sex. My eyes travel down his form, unable to look away. Into a perfect V it all comes together, the most sexy side muscles that point to the sweet spot. I have never seen a man like this in the flesh.               Every cell in my body is reacting and responding to him. I look at his body and can’t help but think that I would gladly drop to my knees and worship at his altar. His rock hard body is calling to me. A dark trail of hair teases, leading to the darkest of treasures. He ties me up in knots, and I can only silently beg. Beg to touch him, to run my fingers over his beautifully chiseled chest, followed by my tongue. Over every curve and muscle of his taut abs, I need to taste him and suddenly I am starving. I want his scent to flow through me. I need to be filled by him, to be his vessel, to fill me up until my head spins, and then do it again, and again. Snap out of it! His wicked eyes rake me over before he grins, arrogant and knowing.     
    “Do you need to sit?” He winks and pads over to the bar. His back almost as beautiful as his front, tight strapping muscles give and take as he walks, his heart shaped ass high and tight, strong legs perfectly tapered to well-manicured feet. He takes very good care of himself. It is evident in every pane of his body, every strand of hair on his head. He pours two glasses of orange juice from a glass carafe that sits next to a silver bucket with a bottle of champagne and a platter of fruit and croissants.
    “I am glad you came.” Handing me a glass of juice he takes a seat next to me on the sofa. He smells of citrus, soap and testosterone, it is a heady mixture in conjunction with his proximity and the tiny towel that barely covers his powerful thighs. “I thought it would be nice to go get a coffee and then take a drive.” He places his hand on my knee light as a feather, but the contact is heavy and electric. His eyes grow wide, his soft lips part and I feel my pulse accelerate and my slack jaw falls open. We both snap to at the same moment and he pulls his hand away and stands, moving towards the bedroom. “I’ll just be a few minutes, make yourself at home.” He disappears through the French doors and into the master bath, closing the door behind him.
    Still slightly a flutter from his gentle touch I rise and walk through the suite. The large living space is decorated in soft pastels, very Miami. Delicately upholstered couches flank both