Sandy's POV
The enormous white dress shirt hanging loosely on my body felt impossibly delicate against my skin. Every movement sent the soft cotton brushing across my nipples, creating an unwanted awareness that made me shift uncomfortably. This was ridiculous. Why hadn't he let me pack my own clothes instead of dragging me here like this?
I let out an irritated breath as I walked barefoot toward the kitchen where he was busy. The second I laid eyes on him, my chest tightened.
Of course he looked incredible while cooking. This man could probably look devastating doing absolutely nothing.
Charles stood at the stovetop, commanding attention without even trying. His dark slacks fit his lean hips perfectly, while his black dress shirt with rolled sleeves exposed powerful forearms marked with prominent veins that drew my gaze like a magnet. His midnight hair was slightly mussed, creating a striking contrast against those piercing blue eyes focused intently on his task.
