At another tableau composed of gleaming stone flesh, she’d spent some time eyeing the scene’s participants. Her mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again.
“Where would he even put his…” A pause. “Oh. I forget about that option.”
Dear Lord.
“Why don’t we check in?” he’d suggested at that point, hoarse desperation in every syllable he managed to utter. “We have dinner reservations soon.”
“He’s right.” Gladys had sounded a bit stressed too. “We need time to set up in the restaurant before then. Hopefully someplace without so many marble dongs on display.”
Thank goodness for Gladys, voice of sanity.
“And we reserved you a VIP booth at Club Carnal for your after-dinner activity,” she’d continued, “so wear the sexiest clothes you brought. Within network-standards reason.”
Gladys, you foul betrayer.
They’d checked in. The crew had followed them down hallways papered with textured cherry-red brocade and filmed a few quick shots of the suite, some of which might even be suitable for children. And then the HATV people had left, abandoning Thomas to his torment like the traitors they were.
Callie had stopped fondling the headboard, thank goodness, but she was eyeing him closely, her thick brows drawn.
“You’ve been very quiet.” She took a step toward him. “Are you okay?”
“Just a bit tired,” he said.
The truth. He hadn’t had much sleep the night before, and he didn’t anticipate much more rest that night. Especially given what he’d just read about the contents of the nightstands.
Her scrutiny didn’t waver, and he fought a shudder at how that steady, concentrated perusal burned through his clothing like a shower of embers. How her mere proximity made him weak, made him hard, in the dim hush of a room designed for pleasure.
She waved a hand, encompassing their surroundings in a single graceful sweep. “Does all this make you uncomfortable?”
Definitely. But perhaps not for the reasons she might imagine, and not for reasons he was willing to discuss with her at that moment.
He countered the question with its echo. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”
When she blinked and glanced away, he could finally draw oxygen into his lungs again.
“Not really.” Her voice sounded steady. Definite. “With anyone else, I would be super-anxious right now. Worried about what HATV might want us to do on this island. Worried about what my…” She cleared her throat. “Worried about what my partner would want from me, and how much of it would end up on camera.”
The idea of her pressured into situations that made her anxious, ones she didn’t choose or want, made his gut clench.
Callie’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “But I know you would speak up if the crew requested something that made me uncomfortable, because you did that already, during our first photo shoot.” Her brows compressed again, and her lips pinched a tad. “And you were a total gentleman last night. This morning, too. It felt like we were hardly in the same room together, much less in the same bed.”
Her gaze landed on the huge slab of mattress dominating their suite. She reached out to caress the slick wine-colored silk of their comforter, and all the blessed oxygen departed his lungs once more in a silent whoosh.
“So no, I’m not uncomfortable.” Another step toward him. Another. Until she was within arm’s reach, her chin tipped up to him and her glossy lips parted. “But I still don’t know whether you’re uncomfortable. Some people might find all this”—she gestured to their surroundings again—“shocking or off-putting, and if you’re one of them, I want you to know that’s totally okay. If you’d like, we can talk to Gladys about finding a different place to stay tonight.”
He exhaled through his nose.
Really, he shouldn’t be surprised. Not by her thoughtfulness, nor by her concern. From the beginning, their coworkers had assumed his absentmindedness, his academic bent, the way he didn’t seem to notice the world around him while he sorted through his thoughts, his research, his ideas, meant he must be an innocent or a prude. Possibly someone entirely uninterested in sex.
He hadn’t dated anyone since starting at CMRL, which had only confirmed that mistaken belief. A belief that, apparently, Callie might share.
There was nothing wrong with being innocent or uninterested in sex.
But he wasn’t either, and he wanted her to know that.
“Callie…” When he moved a step closer, her breath feathered across his neck in a ticklish rush. Carefully, he lifted a hand and traced the silken heat of her cheek with his knuckles, and her eyes flew to his, dark and wide. “I’m no monk.”
Her teeth sank into her lower lip. “You’re not?”
