He’d fared better than I had, given that only his shirt was drenched while I looked like I’d been dunked upside down in a pool from my head to my knees. It didn’t seem fair that he could stand there as if artfully sprayed with water for a sexy photoshoot while I resembled a drowned rat.
“From the closet by the bathroom door,” I added as a shiver racked my body.
He kept his gaze on me for another second before turning in the direction I’d indicated. His shift of attention brought me a sense of both relief and disappointment. Which made no sense! My brain was seriously messed up.
We need to have a chat,I told my brain.You can’t be letting a man affect you like this. Remember what happened the last time you got involved with a guy?
I didn’t have a chance to continue my internal lecture.
Because when Wyatt opened the closet door, my freshly laundered underwear tumbled out and hit him like an avalanche of lingerie.
Chapter
Twelve
“Close your eyes!” I screamed like a crazy woman.
To hell with the area rug, I decided the split second before making a mad dash for Wyatt.
A purple bra had landed on his head, one cup dangling in front of his face. He brushed it aside before I could reach him. A cross between a whimper and a burst of hysterical laughter escaped me as I snatched the bra out of his hand. It matched the purple thong resting on his left shoulder. I grabbed that too and started plucking damp and brightly colored underwear—well, brightly colored except for that one beige bra—off him like my life depended on it.
I spun around, lunged into my bedroom, and dumped everything on the bed. I took half a second to make sure I didn’t have any underwear still clinging to my clothes, and then I bolted from the room, slamming the door behind me. I snatched a towel from the open closet and shoved it at Wyatt’s chest. Then I grabbed his arms—barely registering the feel of his corded muscles beneath my hands—wrenched him around, and shoved him toward the open apartment door. I didn’t ease up until he was out in the hall.
“Sorry! Thank you! Sorry!” I babbled before slamming the door and sagging against it.
“You have reached a new low, Emersyn Gray,” I said once I’d caught my breath.
Could life get any more mortifying? If so, I didn’t want to know about it.
Through my haze of humiliation, I managed to remember that I was still dripping water all over the floor. Shivering, I realized that I was freezing.
And the drop in my body temperature had nothing to do with Wyatt’s absence.
Not at all.
Muttering an array of curses under my breath, I stomped back over to the closet, grabbed two towels, and took them into the bathroom. I struggled out of my wet clothes and dried myself off before wrapping myself in one of the towels and fetching fresh clothes from my bedroom.
Dry now and fully dressed—but without a shred of dignity left—I emerged from my bedroom and dug the oldest towels out of the closet to use on the kitchen floor.
“Stupid rippling muscles,” I groused as I sopped up the puddle. “Ridiculous twinkling eyes. Infuriatingly luscious hair.”
That I long to run my hands through.
“No!” I reprimanded myself. “No, I don’t. Absolutely not.”
And I totally wasn’t the least bit disappointed that Wyatt hadn’t stripped off his soaked T-shirt in my presence. Not even a little bit. Nope, nope, nope.
I paused when I heard footsteps and voices out in the hall.
Familiar voices.
I abandoned my cleanup and lunged for the apartment door, yanking it open. I nearly flung myself out into the hall but stopped right before hitting Wyatt’s chest.
He stood there, fist raised to knock, holding my towel—blush pink—and wearing a perfectly dry, heather gray T-shirt.
“Why are you still here?” I pointed at his shirt before he could reply. “And where did you get that?”
“I’m heading to the gym later, so I had a spare shirt in my car. But I thought I should bring back your towel.”
