She briefly entertained the idea that he was not, in fact, a paying guest. But if he was a squatter who’d broken into one of their most exclusive lodgings, it seemed unlikely he’d call the front desk with a request.
“It took all the towels I had to wipe up the floor, and then I tried to wring them out so I could use them again, since everything was still damp, but it didn’t really work. And then I was sweating from all the running back and forth, so I decided to take a shower.”
Jean waggled her brows. “Nice.”
“Oh.” He bit his lip, obviously dismayed. “I didn’t mean to sound… suggestive.” As if mentioning a shower was more indiscreet than flashing her.
“Then you shouldn’t have talked about cleaning. There’s a whole genre of men-doing-chores erotica. The dishwashing ones are my favorite.”
“I had no idea.” He blinked at Jean as if she’d thrown his whole world out of focus.
“That’s because I just made it up. But it could be true. Back to the shower.” She mimed scrubbing herself, mostly to see him blush again.
“I forgot there weren’t any towels to dry off with afterward.”
“So there you were, naked and dripping?” she prompted.
“I tried using a kitchen towel, but it’s not really the same. Drying off a plate and drying off… you know.”
“Human flesh?”
“Er, yes. And it was very humid, so it felt like the air needed its own towel. I hated to bother anyone, but I didn’t want to get the furniture wet, and I wasn’t sure how long I’d have to stand up before I stopped being damp, so I called the number on thephone and then you came.” He paused, wincing a little. “I didn’t expect anyone to get here so quickly.”
“I’m known for my land speed. In the water, not so much. I’m originally from the mainland too. Though I’ve been here long enough to get used to the weather.”
“How did you—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I’m keeping you from your work. Sorry. And I’m also sorry for, ah, you know—”
“The anatomy lesson?”
He nodded, flushing again. Jean watched him swipe a hand across his forehead with a quick jerk, like she might not notice if he was fast enough.
“Sweating again?” she asked, checking the parts of him she could see for evidence. There was some definite dewiness at the base of his throat.
“Sorry. I’m a little nervous.”
“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” Jean made her eyes big and innocent, letting her lips take on just a hint of a pout, like a ceramic figurine at the Hallmark store: Little Girl Who Dropped Her Ice Cream.
“No,” he said, after thinking about it for a few seconds. “I suppose I’m not. Afraid, that is.” The discovery seemed to surprise him. He stood a little straighter, shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “You’re the first person I’ve talked to today,” he confided. “Or yesterday.”
“On purpose?”
“Sort of. I don’t mind being alone. It’s easier than a crowd.”
“You’re not like the boy in the bubble or something? Or on a silent, naked retreat?”
“Do you get many of those?”
“You would’ve been my first.” She added a wink because the innuendo amused her. Had she crossed the line between joking and coming on to someone? Maybe, but Jean preferred to operate on instinct, and right now she was having fun. That was her definition of a green light. Her gaze landed on the neat rows of cards spread across the duvet. “You play?”
He nodded. “Solitaire, mostly.”
Talk about a cry for help. “When are you checking out?”
“Why?” Of all the invasive questions she’d asked since barging into his space, that was the one that seemed to put his back up.
“Maybe I should come back. To keep you from going full Wolf Boy.”
“Really? That’s—I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose—”
