Under the Gun. Lyn Stone

sliding weight cables reached her before she got there. Grayson must be working out.

      Uh-oh, not Grayson. That was so not him.

      The sight of Will made her freeze in the doorway. He was wearing only a pair of knit running shorts, lying on his back, gripping the bar on the pulley, straining every muscle as he slowly drew it down to his chest.

      A fine sheen of perspiration coated his entire body. Every bulge of muscle shone, even the finely sculpted thighs and calves.

      She jerked her gaze to his face for her own peace of mind. His features gleamed, too. Sweat beaded and rivulets ran off his forehead, leading her eye down to the flexing muscles of his neck.

      Her breath had stuck in her throat, but oxygen deprivation did absolutely nothing to dull her appreciation. Man, he was something else.

      Nope, he wasn’t bad at all, she thought with a grin, noting the snake-and-anchor tattoo stretching over his biceps. She knew he had gotten it during his stint in the marines.

      In belated rebellion to all that family money, he and his brother had struck out on their own the summer after their freshman year, served their three years and then returned to college, wiser, calmer and as totally independent as self-made men. Also determined to make a difference in their world. They certainly had done that.

      She admired Will so much. His dedication. His courage. His incredible mind. And there was a whole lot more of him to appreciate in addition to those inner attributes.