“Good morning,” she said a little shyly.
“Morning,” he replied, and if there was any shyness behind the word, his tone bashed it into two crisp, sharp-edged syllables. He took his kit and moved to one side of the room, where the dressing table stood, even as Elodie took hers and moved to the other side, near the window.
“Keep your back turned, please,” he said, sounding as prim as a maiden aunt, “so I can get changed.”
Elodie bristled. “I have no intention of peeking at you. Keepyourback turned, please, while I can get changed also.”
“Naturally,” Gabriel replied.
“Good.”
“Perfect.”
Elodie clenched her teeth to prevent herself from responding. Let him have the last word.Shewould rather have her self-respect. As she began unfastening her dress, she scowled determinedly out the window.
Which reflected the room with perfect clarity.
She watched in the glass as Gabriel removed his vest and undid all the buttons of his shirt before her conscience finally stirred.Stop peeking!it demanded.
Absolutely, of course,Elodie agreed, looking down.
Then Gabriel took off the shirt, and her eyes suffered mild whiplash as they rose again to the view.
Morning light glossed his bare skin, turning it to gold. He angled slightly, revealing an abdomen so well-defined it was practically an entire dictionary on masculine strength. Elodie’s nerves trilled with the memory of that abdomen pressed against her body, and she rubbed a hand restively across her midriff, trying to calm the sensations and bring herself more firmly back into the present, in which her husband’s abdomenwas off-limits and indeed not even for peeking at. All she managed, however, was to stoke a warmth that threatened to spread through her entire body.
Oblivious to her suffering, Gabriel bent to his kit, withdrawing a black henley. Elodie had previously observed this species of tightly fitting, long-sleeved vest on male students during the Oxford Cambridge Boat Race, but never paid it much attention. After all, what are men to rocks and mountains? But as Gabriel pulled on the henley, muscles rippling with the movement, Elodie had to admit, he was an Everest.
Leaning forward, she rested her forehead on the windowpane.I hate him, hate him,she silently chanted. A shadow moved across the glass as Gabriel’s reflection shifted again, and her attention automatically followed it.
He was removing his trousers.
This is it,she thought.This is the moment I die.(Which was not quite as hyperbolic a statement as it seemed, considering she’d forgotten to inhale.) Swallowing heavily, she turned aside from the window and attacked the buttons of her dress, determined to make no further notice of her altogether disturbing husband.
—
Hell,Gabriel cursedsilently, then added a preposition for good measure:I am inhell. For although he’d turned his back to Elodie like a decent gentleman, he’d not counted on the dressing table’s mirror giving him a clear view of his damned disturbing wife as she slipped off her dress. The sight of her upper body covered only by the flimsiest camisole, not even a corset to protect a man’s sensibilities, set his nerves aflame. Hastily he looked away.
Dressing in khaki field pants, tucking them into sturdy tramping boots, he folded up the vest’s sleeves (then refolded one until it was precisely even with the other), and set his ER kit on his back. Then, donning his spectacles, he reached across the dressing table for his portable weather station.
The movement caused him to accidentally see Elodie’s reflection in the mirror once again. She was now safely attired in a white, lace-collared shirtwaist, plaid skirt, and the scratchy brown cardigan. The skirt was salaciously short, just four inches below her knees, and tall boots only superficially protected her legs from the scandal of visibility.
Mind you, had someone interviewed Gabriel on the matter, he’d have said she ought to wear trousers, for safety’s sake. Any man ruffled by the female form lacked mental discipline.
Just then Elodie noticed a crease on the front of her shirtwaist. She brushed her hand down over her breast—
—
Elodie glanced overwith mild alarm as Gabriel appeared to choke on his own breath. Immediately, her own breath threatened to implode. He was wearing his spectacles.
More specifically, he was wearing a tight-fitting henley with the sleeves folded up, trousers made for action, hardy boots, and his spectacles.
Just kill me now and be done with it,she thought with a heavy sigh.
“Is something wrong?” Gabriel asked, gruff.
“Nngghghnnh,” she replied. Thankfully, due to long experience of giving morning lectures while still half-asleep, this came out with serene coherence: “No, nothing wrong. Nothing at all. Absolutely fine. And you?”
“Fine,” he said, and scowled so fiercely at the weather station in his hand that it was a wonder the glass covers of its brass-ringed gauges did not shatter.
