Imani was close. Her skin — feverishly hot, flawlessly smooth, moist with a fine sheen of sweat — slid across his chest, crowding out the world from his consciousness. Leo felt every line of her body: the graceful, confident pivot of her hips, the sharp, graphic collarbones beneath his palms, the chiseled curve of her neck. Her short, coarse coils of hair tickled his chin, leaving a faint scent of palm oil and smoke on his skin
