Free Bare Knuckle: Vegas Top Guns, Book 5 by Katie Porter Page A

three in the morning. Safer. Easier than hanging around after they’d both gotten all they wanted. This was more like a work in progress.
    She sure as shit didn’t want to look and smell like she did when the next round began.
    She downed some aspirin with half of the bottled water. Toothbrush and robe in hand, she headed into the bathroom, which was tucked behind his makeshift photography studio. A shiver of memory worked up her calves.
    Damn. So good.
    After a thorough scrubbing of both mouth and body, she gave up on putting her wig back on. It was a wretched mess, and she didn’t have any replacement pins or glue. She’d need to spend time getting the snarls out.
    Trish swiped away the condensation on the mirror. Her short, almost tomboy hair was damp. Barely more blonde than brown.
    This was huge. The only people who saw her without her wig were Mama and other women in Trish’s same line of work.
    With a deep breath, she reminded herself of how much Eric seemed to like the truth. Genuine things. Maybe…
    She cinched the bathrobe’s tie and opened the door before she could change her mind.
    A cup of steaming coffee waited for her on the same bedside table. She smiled. Gruff, yes. Inconsiderate, apparently not.
    Was he in the kitchen? Listening more closely, she heard…grunts? Steady. Rhythmic. Like when he’d slammed into her before coming.
    What the hell?
    Apprehensive, she walked toward the open space on the other side of the bedroom’s brick half-partition. And froze dead. Had she grabbed the coffee first, she would’ve dropped the mug.
    Eric was doing chin-ups. One after the other after the other. He was covered in sweat, wearing only a tight-as-sin pair of black boxer briefs. During their decadent evening, she hadn’t been privileged with such a blatant view of his back. Muscles bunched across his upper back, his shoulders, his thick arms. Then he lowered his body in a controlled move. Everything lengthened, including his scar. It was as if a pale snake had coiled around his back, nestling where she knew it ended, out of sight around his ribs.
    She was going to offer a greeting, something light to belie how he turned her on. Because poof , she was wet and tingling with want. She’d never been with a man who took such precise care of himself. A masterpiece of macho.
    Then she saw his laptop. It sat open on a nearby table. From where he worked out, Eric had a perfect view of the screen. On that screen was a slideshow of Trish. Only a second separated each transition. Naked, pouting, sweaty, straining and finally screaming. All the phases of their night.
    Eric kept working. Harder now. Grunting with each fierce pull.
    She swallowed and found her voice. Because she wanted in on a piece of that fabulous, rigid body before he worked out all the tension.
    “So, stud…how’d they turn out?”

Chapter Eight
    A shot of energy sang along Eric’s shoulders and down his back. He held himself upright in the chin-up for three more counts, finishing out the movement. Then down. His toes hit the floor. He’d done enough that he was huffing. Sweat had popped up along his skin. He hadn’t been able to help it. The drive of Trish’s pictures…
    It had either been a fast, difficult mini-workout or jacking it while she was in the shower.
    The pictures had hit him that fiercely.
    Maybe he should have shut them off, but no one in his right mind would’ve chosen not to look at her. The way she’d practically come apart over the course of the night. Let down her shields. Sweaty and dirty, laughing and free.
    He’d loved every minute.
    Grabbing a towel, he turned while he wiped away some of the sweat.
    Whoa. He hadn’t expected that.
    Short hair barely brushed the tops of her ears in a color that more closely matched the honey between her legs. He should’ve known better, that the platinum had been a wig. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so appreciative to see a woman with natural breasts. Now even her