Stop fantasizing about him, she ordered herself. That didn’t feel very compelling, so she added,At least don’t think about licking him. That’s swamp water, not shower water. It’s gross.
An image popped up of Carter inexplicably wearing that shirt in the shower, dripping with nice clean water. With an effort, she squelched it.
Focus,she told herself.
He was standing in an odd position, holding his heavy wet coat in front of him like a shield. He must be cold too.
“Yeah, we’d better warm up,” she said. “Foraging in wet clothes seems like a great way to get pneumonia.”
“Right. Right.” He quickly turned his back on her and began collecting dry wood.
She found a space near a tree with low-hanging branches and ringed it with rocks. He put down the wood, she set it up to burn nicely, and he lit it with his mini welding torch. Orange flames blazed up, giving off a welcome warmth.
“I thought you could hang up your coat to dry,” she said, pointing to a branch that extended over the fire.
“Oh, good idea.” He carefully hung up his coat, using a branch stub to keep it in place.
“And your shirt, if you want.” She spoke with some envy, because it wasn’t like she could take offhershirt.
“Seems a bit unfair to you,” he said. “You know, if you wanted to—”
“I’m not going to do a swamp strip-tease,” Fen interrupted, but without anger. She appreciated that he’d noticed the double standard that allowed him to warm himself while she had to stand around in wet clothes.
“A swamp-tease?” Carter suggested with a grin. “Honestly, Fenella, it really isn’t fair. And I don’t love wearing wet pants. How about we both hang up our clothes, and keep our backs turned until we can get dressed again?”
It was a tempting idea. And really, what was the downside? That he might sneak a peek at her body? If he was the kind of guy who’d spy on a woman, he’d have done it when she was bathing.
“It’s Fen,” she said. “My friends—I mean, people who know me call me Fen.”
“Seriously?” He sounded genuinely taken aback. “As in swamp?”
“A fen is a wetland with peat, sedges, and moss,” she informed him, irritated. Her parents refused to call her by the name she preferred because they claimed it meant a swamp and had bad connotations. “Not a swamp. Or a bog. Or a marsh. Those are all completely different things. Fens are important ecosystems. And they’re pretty.”
Carter made a bullfrog-like gulping sound that was either suppressed laughter or a death rattle. Then he recovered himself. “Right. Fensarepretty. So how about turning our backs to change, Fen?” Her name rolled easily off his tongue, sounding so much more warm and friendly than the formal Fenella. Nobody but her parents called her that anymore. “I promise not to look.”
“I believe you.” She turned around. “You go first.”
The fire was deliciously hot against her back as she sat on the ground and listened to the sounds of Carter getting undressed. They were distinctly squelchy, which shouldn’t have been at all attractive, but because she knew exactly why they sounded like that, they were disconcertingly sexy.
Fwish-drip.That was Carter stripping off his clingy wet shirt, leaving his muscular chest bare.
Thud-squelch, thud-squelch. That would be Carter taking off his shoes and socks. She wondered what his feet looked like. She’d never seen them.
Fwish-squish. That was Carter taking off his pants. Now he was completely naked except for his—
Bwish.Oh God, that had to be Carter peeling off his boxers or briefs or whatever it was he wore to contain what had to be the world’s most tempting cock. Now he was nude as she’d imagined him, only this time it was for real and he was right behind her.
This.Thiswas the downside. She was sitting with her back to Naked Carter, and she wouldn’t be able to think about anything else until their clothes dried off—theirclothes, she was going to have to take off her clothes too, and then she’d be naked while Naked Carter was right behind her—
“Fen?” Once again, his voice had that husky roughness. “I’m done. Your turn.”
“Okay. No looking.” Her own voice also sounded different to her. She decided not to speak again.
Fen turned around, and immediately got an eyeful of Naked Carter sitting with his back to her. It was only a second or so before she spun around, remembering that she too had promised not to look, but that one second was burned into her eyes like she’d stared into the sun. Wet hair like black satin. The appealing vulnerability of the nape of his neck. Shoulder muscles to die for. Back muscles to die for. The groove of his spine that seemed made for her to trace with her finger. That amazing glimpse of his incredible ass…
She stared at the low branch his clothes were hanging from as if she was trying to set fire to them with her mind. Those were clothes that Carter wasn’t in.
No. Don’t look at them. Look at something else. Think of something else. Bullfrogs. The high note of the National Anthem. Cold oatmeal.
