“I honestly wouldn’t know,” he says with a quiet, somewhat strangled laugh. Maybe it’s standing here in his altogether, bare and hard, showing off for a man sculpted like a god who for whatever reason is looking at him with barely restrained desire. “Maybe it’s just you.”

Crozier sets the flannel back into the wash basin, leaving his hand free. “Do you turn pretty colors too? A reddening of that gorgeous skin of yours?”