I stepped left, then shuffled right. He moved with me.
“Why do you care whether I stay or not?” I demanded. “It has nothing to do with you.”
“I don’t like you being here,” he said bluntly.“Coming here in your fancy clothes with your fancy degrees, reminding everyone of how run-down this island is, and how sad and hopeless we are.”
My jaw dropped. “I haven’t uttered a single negative syllable about Whispering Key!Youare the one who keeps saying negative things. And if you’re so miserable in this place, why don’t you take your shitty flip-flops and your… your… disgustingT-shirtand justmove away?”
Fenn’s eyes darkened like storm-tossed waves. “You have a real fixation with this shirt, Loafers. You keep eyeing it.” He took another step toward me, and I darted around him, trying to make for the door, but he backed me against the wall and loomed over me.
“No, I have a fixation withcleanliness,” I shot back, pushing up onto my toes and shoving uselessly at his chest. “Withhygiene.”
“Yeah? Then let me solve that problem for you.” He reached down and grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, and in one smooth motion he dragged it off his body. “Done.”
He tossed the cloth to the carpeted floor, where it landed with a whisper that echoed around the suddenly silent bunker like cannon fire.
Look, I’d seen many men’s chests before.
Like, hundreds.
Hundredsof hundreds.
In locker rooms. On the beach. On my television. On Instagram. In my own damn bathroom mirror. And that wasn’t even considering the plethora I saw in exam roomsevery single day. I could catalog the muscles, and the bones beneath them. I could pinpoint each organ they protected. There wasnothingremarkable about a chest. Nothing noteworthy about a guy taking off his shirt.
So it was absolutely not possible that Fenn Reardon taking his shirt off would cause my entire nervous system to short-circuit somehow… or make me view him with anything but clinical detachment… or stir up anything but increased disgust and annoyance.
I never hadthose kinds of uncontrolled, inappropriate feelings. Ever.
Except suddenly I did.
My brain stuttered, coughing up words likesmoothandtanandohmyfuckinggodbefore it flatlined completely. I swear there was a white noise buzzing in Rafe Goodman’s bunker, like one of those giant seashells that sound like the ocean when you push it to your ear, except the bunker was the shell and the sound was coming from inside me.
His chest was broad and defined without being bulky. He had abs for days—literally one for each day of the week and a spare for holidays, I thought hysterically. He had a trail of hair leading down from his navel to the line of whiter skin peeking out of his low-slung cargo shorts. And on his right hip, he had a freckle just above the line of his muscle, like the North Star pointing toward a constellation I couldn’t see.
My mouth went dry.
“You… you…” I nodded. Then shook my head. Then swallowed.
Transversus abdominus,Mason. What the hell is your problem? It’s a muscle. Everybody has them.
But holy shit, not everyone had themlike that.
“This better, Doctor? More hygienic?” Fenn’s words danced on my skin like an ocean breeze, making me shiver.
“You’reridiculous,” I said, but it came out more breathless than I’d hoped. I pushed at his shoulder. “Get dressed.”
“What for?” he scoffed, leaning closer. “We’re on Whispering Key. You’re the one who’s out of line.” He tweaked at the waistband of my slim-fit chinos. “And that’s my entire point. I live here. Youdon’t. And your fancy clothes won’t last a week in this heat.”
My arms fluttered at my sides, wanting to push him away again but also somehow afraid to touch his skin, which was very, verynotnormal for me. I felt arousal arc through me like an electric current, like a literalandfigurative shock.
What the fuck was that?
“Get. Dressed,” I insisted.
“Make. Me.”
“I’m not kidding. You need to back up.” My hands clenched into fists, then relaxed again.Clench, release. Clench, release.I wanted to choke the life out of him.
Or something like that.
