He gave me one of those sexy smiles of his and said, “I have no objections.”
“Turn around, please.” I made a circling motion with my finger so that he’d show me his back. He gave me an “aw, do I have to?” expression but did as I requested.
I took off his shirt, placing it on the bed next to me. I paused for a moment to study the broad expanse of his shoulders and torso, thinking about walking over to him, pressing myself against his back, wrapping my arms around him. Would he be warm? Or had his skin cooled from being shirtless for so long? I imagined how he’d react, thinking he might stiffen up in surprise and then relax into my embrace.
How he’d turn around slowly and after looking deeply into my eyes, he’d lean down to kiss me, his fiery lips devouring mine, gathering me up against him and lowering me down onto the bed and . . .
“Rachel?”
My heart beat so hard I was sure he could hear it. “What?”
“Are you having trouble with the buttons?” He sounded far too hopeful.
I grabbed my shirt and yanked it down over my head and realized that my face was currently stuck in one of my sleeves. “I’m fine.”
He turned his chin toward his shoulder, as if he were going to look at me, but he didn’t. “Did you decide not to put clothes on? I could understand why you wouldn’t want to get dressed. I am pretty irresistible.”
Now I managed to get both of my legs into one of the pant legs and I was bouncing around trying to get unstuck. “And yet somehow I’ve managed to resist you.”
Barely, but he didn’t need to know that.
I finally sorted myself out enough to get my pants on correctly and twisted and turned until my head was through the appropriate hole in my shirt. I got my arms into the right spot and announced, “All done.”
When he turned back around, I threw his pajama top in his general direction because I was unwilling to get too close. It was better to have a lot of space between us.
Especially given that we were standing here in this half-dressed state where I was having inappropriate fantasies when nothing could or should happen between us. It forced me to make a deal with myself. I was allowed to spend time with him as long as I kept things strictly platonic.
“Your shirt’s on backward,” he offered and I glanced down.
“Oh. Yeah. That’s how I wanted it.” There was no way I was going to try adjusting it again. I might wind up strangling myself or something.
Then Camden would have to do CPR on me and I’d pull him down into a real kiss and . . .
I shook my head hard. I had to stop this. “Are you going to put that on?” I figured it might help my current situation.
He hesitated for a moment, as if he knew exactly why I’d asked the question, and he was enjoying my discomfort. “Are you sure you want me to put it back on?”
“I . . . yes.” I’d said yes, right?
“Okay.” He shrugged with a playful smile. “Your loss.”
I mean, he wasn’t wrong. Then he put it on over his head, where he did not get stuck in his sleeve hole, and pulled it down slowly.
I held in my groan of disappointment. It was like standing in front of the most beautiful painting you’d ever seen and the artist covering it back up with a drop cloth. I wanted to yell out, “Boo!”
Camden grabbed the menu and sat on my bed, leaning against the headboard with his legs straight out in front of him. I considered sitting in the armchair near the patio door, but figured that might make me look like a coward. I settled on perching on the corner of the bed farthest from him.
“Come here.” He patted the bed next to him and I hesitantly crawled closer. He waved the menu in front of him. “What do you want?”
Food, I told my raging hormones. He’s talking about food.
He held out the menu so that I could see it, but sitting so near him and all of his yummy warmth was making it so that I couldn’t focus on the words in front of me. “I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries.”
“Maybe I’ll have some of yours.”
“Uh, no. You better get your own stuff. I don’t share food.”
He raised one eyebrow at me. “You think you can eat all that?”
“Not only can I easily finish off a burger and fries, but I can have some ice cream on top of it.” Ice cream was like shoes or handbags. You could never have too much of it.
“What kind?”
“Mint.”
He made a face. “How is that even a flavor? It’s basically toothpaste with chocolate chips.”