He'd stripped down to his silk boxers and a long-sleeved shirt, and was pulling a bottle of massage oil out of his dresser drawer when he turned and saw her. In nothing but one of his tuxedo shirts. God, she knew how to drive him wild.

He smiled coyly, not betraying too much of his arousal on his face.

"You look better in that thing than I do," he said appreciatively. He set the bottle of massage oil down, then stroked two fingers down her cheek, and began to slowly undo the buttons of the shirt. He'd need to take it off to massage her, after all.