I glance down at it, the fabric clinging to my damp skin. “Well, I couldn’t exactly come over here naked, and I found it hanging over the chair in my room.”
His mouth twitches, the corner lifting in a way that sends heat spiraling through my stomach. “Hmm.”
For a moment neither of us moves. The early morning air pebbles my skin, and I rub my thighs together, trying to generate warmth. His eyes track the movement before he swallows hard and looks skyward, his chest rising with a deep breath. “Okay,” he says, voice strained. “Let’s fix the shower.”
He steps outside and closes the door behind him.
Still shirtless, by the way.
Still unfairly attractive.
“Lead the way,” he says.
As we walk back toward the guest house together, I’m painfully aware of three things:
I’m barefoot.
I’m wearing his shirt.
Shepherd Haynes is walking beside me shirtless and smelling like soap.
When we reach the bathroom, he leans into the shower and turns the handle, the water sputtering to life and flowing from the faucet. It immediately runs warm and all I can do is stare at it.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Shepherd glances back at me, clearly trying not to laugh. “Did you turn it the right direction?”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you really mansplaining plumbing to me?”
I mean I think I turned it that way…
Did I?
Didn’t I?
He raises both hands in surrender.
“I’m just asking.”
“I turned it.” I nod. “I know I did.”
I don’t really know but I’ll be damned if I admit that to him.
He reaches past me to adjust the knob, his bare chest so close I can feel heat radiating off his skin. The hair on my arms rises. His forearm brushes mine, sending an electric current straight to my core. I hold my breath, afraid the slightest movement might break whatever spell has fallen over us.
“There we go,” he says, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear.
“Thank you, I guess. Though I don’t know what you did that I didn’t.”
Neither of us moves. His arm remains braced against the wall beside me, caging me in. I can smell his soap, count his eyelashes, see the pulse beating in his throat.
“You know,” he murmurs, fingers grazing the hem of my shirt, knuckles brushing against my bare thigh, “this shirt looks a lot bigger on you.”
My stomach hollows out. “That’s because you’re enormous.”
His eyes darken at the word. “Are you stealing my clothes?”
“No. It’s not stealing if you left it here,” I whisper, my voice betraying me. I lift my shoulder. “Finders keepers.”
