He rested on his back, his long length stretching to the foot of the bed. Her gaze wandered over the white T-shirt, tightly molded to a broad chest and muscular abs. His red and green plaid kilt lay rumpled about his legs, the hem rucked up past his knees. It looked like he'd simply fallen onto the bed without caring how he landed.

Toni edged around the bed, passing by his huge feet encased in black socks. The old wives' tale about men with big feet must be true. Her gaze drifted back to his kilt. His legs were spread apart with the plaid fabric draped slightly between them. What a shock it had been to realize the guy didn't wear any underwear. Her face grew warm, remembering the amused tilt of his mouth and the glint in his eyes. No shame whatsoever. No, he'd looked…bold, as if he'd enjoyed her surprise inspection.

She tilted her head, focused on the dark, shadowy area between his thighs. Slowly, she leaned to the side.

Cum on feel the noize!

With a gasp, she straightened. What had gotten into her? The man was dead, and she was trying to look up his skirt? Thank God there were no cameras up here.

She opened her phone. "It's okay, Howard. I've got Ian here. He's in bed."

There was a pause.

"Girl, you have a man in your bed?"

Toni winced. "Carlos! I–I wasn't expecting you."

He chuckled. "I realize that, menina. So, who is this guy in your bed?"

"He's not in my bed, and it's not—"

"Oh, you're at his place?"

"Well, yes, sorta." Toni shoved her damp hair behind her ears. "Look, Carlos, I can't talk right now." At the sound of his suggestive chuckling, she huffed. "It's not what you think. The guy is really…dead right now."

"You wore him out? You go, girl."