His ears prick with delight when a lengthy, gratified exhale comes from the direction of their bedroom.
In his mind's eye, he sees her back arching in a stretch, muscles uncoiled and relaxed while warm-colored eyes blink away the lingering threads of sleep.
He imagines the drowsy twitch of her lips, quickly curling into that unfettered, sensual and utterly addictive smile she reserves. Just for him.
She appears like an angel in the door frame. Her cheeks are still rosy from dreams, flushing deeper at his unabashed appraisal. He waits out the initial discomfort and sees her growing more accepting, more appreciative under his gaze. She pops a hip to lean against the wood, returning his gaze.
He starts his study with her dainty painted toenails. Moving upward to sweep in an abundance of bare skin. The cluster of freckles just below her left knee. The flattering curves her boyshorts showcase.
She's so beautiful.
He can't bridle the goofy grin when he sees her choice of wake-up apparel. Buttoned haphazardly, fabric tickling her upper thighs. On her petite frame, he's amazed it doesn't cover more.
At his bride's exaggerated eye-roll he laughs outright.
"I always knew you had a thing for my vests, Teresa."
All cockiness vanishes when she deftly unbuttons the loosely held garment. For a man who prides himself on not getting flustered, he is certainly meeting the textbook definition of "hot and bothered" right now.
She leaves the vest to swing on her fingertip, baiting him. And he's having a hard time not biting.
She raises an eyebrow as his Adam's apple bounces. Well-played my dear.
"Come back to bed, Patrick. Or I put on a lot more than this."
And in one motion he directs her backward, casually flicking the vest aside.