When he tried to extricate his arms, his watch caught in the fringe of her crocheted vest.
“Sorry,” he whispered, eyes traveling over her face with a desperate eagerness.
“This is virgin vicuña,” she replied in a sultry tone.
“Vir—what?”
“Vicuña,” she drawled, puckering her lips. “A very small camel.”
“Oh.” He was still staring at her mouth.
“It’s rare. And expensive.”
“That’s nice.”
“I know. So don’t tear it.”
“I’ll be very careful.”
Will you, though?She didn’t say that part out loud. It required Jean’s full concentration to maintain a poker face while Charlie reached under her thigh to fumble with his watch strap, unfastening it so he could pull his arm free.
“There. All clear.” He smiled down at her, seemingly unbothered that he’d lost what was probably an expensive timepiece in her clothing. A lock of dark hair tumbled over his forehead.
Must not touch the hair, Jean’s inner drill sergeant barked. She turned her head to avoid temptation. “I need new shoes.”
Charlie scrambled backward, straightening to a half crouch. “There’s a store about thirty miles up the highway. I could take you—”
“From my suitcase.”
“Right!” He dashed out of the wagon, and Jean used the opportunity to suck in a steadying breath. Unfortunately, she could still smell Charlie’s clean soap-and-orange-spice scent.
Time to up the ante. Pulling a trial-size perfume from her purse, she spritzed her wrists, rubbing them against her neck and the inside of her knees.
From outside, she heard Charlie mutter to himself, followed by the thump and drag of a heavy suitcase coming up the stairs. Jean leaned back on her elbows, crossing and uncrossing her legs to find the most provocative arrangement.
“I hope this is the right one,” he panted, lugging a bulky leather suitcase behind him.
“Open it for me.” It was halfway between a command and a complaint, as if she were too weak from shoe loss to do it herself.
Charlie wrestled the bag onto its side, then unsnapped the clasps. Lingerie exploded at him like a jack-in-the-box, silky underthings in every shade springing in all directions.
“Sorry!” He tried to slam it shut, yelping in pain when he caught his fingers in the lid. “I was trying not to look,” he explained, yanking his hand free.
Jean glanced at the appendage in question, brows raised. His fingers weren’t the only thing he’d pulled out of the suitcase.
“Oh, that’s—” He trailed off, blinking at the scrap of silk in his hand. Charlie brought it closer to his face, studying her panties like a scientific specimen. “Is that… are they… do you—” It seemed to hit him all at once that he was staring at her underwear. Cracking open the lid, he shoved them inside, hurriedly closing the latches like he was afraid something inside might make a break for freedom.
“I’m sorry I touched your, ah.”
“G-string?” Jean lifted one shoulder, as if people were constantly pawing at her underthings. “It’s not like I was wearing it. That would be a different story.” She held eye contact, willing him to imagine the whisper of silk between his fingertips and her skin.
“I’ll go get your other bag,” he said, face on fire.
“It’s the trunk,” she called after him. “The heavy one.”
It sounded like he was wrestling a bear, or whatever they did for fun around here. Jean watched him shove the trunk to the foot of her bed, a few painful inches at a time.
“I’d help, but I just had my nails done.” She held up her hand as evidence.
