“I’d be more offended if you hadn’t looked,” she says with a chuckle and turns to saunter in through the automatic doors, leaving me feeling dazed all over again.
CHAPTER SIX
rowan
Claire wastesno time in leading me to the pharmacist’s counter in the back. As soon as I turn in my prescription and insurance card, she grabs my hand and hauls me down the aisle housing the allergy medications.
“Dr. Jalen recommended one-percent strength. What do you think?” she asks, scanning the shelves for hydrocortisone cream.
“One percent sounds good.” I should probably offer more input, since I’m an actual doctor with my very own prescription pad and all, but I can’t seem to focus on anything with her palm pressed to mine.
It’s got to be the Benadryl fog, I reassure myself as an elderly man walks by. We trade polite nods before Claire lets go of my hand and bends to reach the bottom shelf. I panic when I imagine her hem riding up and instinctively step forward to block the old man’s view.
“Whatcha doin’ back there?” she asks as she slowly rises to her feet, sounding amused.
“Oh, um, I’m just …” My nostrils flare as I fight the urge to look down, but she turns her head so that her hazel eyes meet mine.
“Collecting your payment after that piggyback ride?” she asks, her dark lashes fanning her cheeks, and my palms hover near her hips.
Okay, it can’t just be the allergy meds, because this is the first time I’ve ever considered participating in an act of publicindecency. In fact, I have to ball my hands into fists to avoid gripping her possessively. She cocks an eyebrow and arches her back slightly, and I gasp when she pushes into me, a plethora of obscene thoughts flooding my mind, many of which I’ve never even imagined were possible until this moment.
Half of my brain is screaming,Abort!
Unfortunately, it’s drowned out by the more persuasive half claiming,Mine.
“Rowan,” she whispers my name with a pained expression, and a low growl resonates from my chest. I relinquish my self-control and lean down to meet her lips when a loud throat clearing makes us both wince.
I jump back, scrunching my nose at the sound of more fabric ripping, and Claire spins around quickly, hiding her bare backside against the shelving. The same gray-haired man from a minute ago chuckles to himself and walks on in the opposite direction just before a mother and a young boy pass by. She shoots us a disapproving glare and hurries the kid along, and I let out a loud exhale once they clear the aisle, though I’m not sure whether I’m more disappointed or relieved by the interruption.
“I’m sorry,” I begin. “That was totally …”
Claire’s whimper distracts me as she inspects her tattered clothes again. The jacket’s hem must have caught on my belt buckle, causing the tear when we broke apart. And naturally, the seam that’s currently unravelling falls on the same side as the rip in her dress.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says just before another one of her loud cackles bubbles up from her chest, and I can’t help but join her. We’re both delirious within seconds, laughing so loud that we lower ourselves to the floor to stop from falling over, triggering another wardrobe malfunction and a complementary fit of giggles.
“What are we going to do now?” I ask, gasping for air.
She sighs. “I guess I’ll be needing your drawers, now.”
“My what?”
“Your boxers,” she clarifies as if the answer should be more obvious. “You’re wearing underwear, aren’t you?”
I nod and blink back at her in confusion, my brain still misfiring.
“Who am I kidding? Of course you do,” she mumbles to herself as she shifts to show me the damage. Between the jacket and the dress, she’s practically naked from the armpit down on one side, her dainty underwear notwithstanding. “I’ll need something else to wear if I want to make it back to the hotel without literally freezing my ass off.”
I frown, still staring at her bare hip. “Maybe we can flip the jacket around?”
“Nah, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t long enough to cover everything even before it ripped. My undercarriage was already catching a suspicious amount of cool breeze on the ride here.”
“But … but you can’t wearmyunderwear,” I argue awkwardly.
She stifles a smile. “Why not? Are you embarrassed to show me your tighty-whities?” Then she cups her hand around her mouth and adds, “You didn’t leave behind any evidence after your unfortunate tummy situation, did you?”
“They’re boxer briefs,” I reply more defensively. “And I’m pretty sure they’re relatively clean, considering. But you barely even know me.”
She shrugs. “I’ll keep my panties on underneath if it makes you feel better, but the fact that I was just privy to your entire medical history makes that a moot point. I’d know if you had any booty cooties by now, unless that’s why you turned down Nurse Ethel’s offer to run that STI panel.”
