It was obvious he just wanted to see her reaction.
And she cursed herself for immediately giving it to him. As soon as his fingertips grazed that hem, she jerked back. She just couldn’t help it. It was like some kind of primal instinct—one that he was well aware of, apparently. He sat back on his heels at the sight, already stuffing himself back into his jeans. And the expression on his face…
She wanted to call it pained ruefulness.
A description that was backed up by the tone of his voice.
“I knew it. I knew it. You’re nervous about taking your clothes off.”
“In an abandoned barn, sure.”
She sat back, too, as she told the lie. Folded her arms, to make it seem more certain.
Of course, it only had the opposite effect. Now she’d built an extra barrier between him and her body.
“You didn’t want to do it in your dorm room, either.”
“I didn’t not not want to do it.”
“I think that was a triple negative.”
“Which makes it a positive again.”
“That’s not…I don’t think that’s how that…” He paused, half frustrated and half amused. Shook a playful fist at her. “Stop using grammar against me!”
“You started it with your triple-negative jibe.”
“I did not. You backed me into—” he started, but he didn’t finish. Instead he took a calming breath, and restarted with a clearer purpose. “Okay, this is completely irrelevant to the point, which is: you obviously don’t want me to see or feel too much of you. And that’s ridiculous, considering how aroused I got over your bare leg like we live in nineteenth-century New Zealand and I stole your piano.”
She had to drop her folded arms a little for that.
And maybe put a bit of a moan into her voice when she replied.
“Ohhhhh, did you seriously just reference The Piano? Oh my god I just came.”
“Hell yeah I did, because I’m not a jerk who refuses to like movies that aren’t manly enough. I told you already I liked Dirty Dancing. The Piano is, like, a hundred times less embarrassing than that.”
“I dunno. Dirty Dancing doesn’t have Harvey Keitel’s penis in it.”
“Hey, I love Harvey Keitel’s peni—wait, let me back that up.”
“No, don’t. Keep going. I might get turned on enough to just strip.”
“In that case, I regularly fantasize about being mounted by him.”
She laughed at that. Loud and long and so good that her arms were no longer folded by the time she was done. Somewhere in the middle of it she had leaned back on her elbows, in an almost relaxed sort of way.
And when he slid across the blanket and lay down beside her, she didn’t flinch.
“This was your evil plan all along, right? Get me laughing until I feel totally comfortable about being nude up here in front of you.”
“You bust me so hard, babe. So hard.”
“But you love it right?”
“I do love it.”
God he sounded sure about that.
And he looked sure, too.
That little half smile, the hint of a raised eyebrow, the softness in his gaze.
“Okay, I’m going to give you just one boob. I’m warning you though, they’re nowhere near as great as my clothes might make them seem.”
“By clothes do you mean the seventeen layers that disguise your boobs as a woolen shelf?”
“No, by clothes I mean shut up being a smart-ass if you want me to continue.”
Of course the second she’d said it she wanted to take it back.
Now there was just the sound of her own breathing.
And the sound of his breathing, as it got steadily heavier.
“You’ve gone all quiet.”
“I’m trying not to be a smart-ass. You need me to talk?”
“Yes, please. Say words. Fill this eerie silence.”
“Felt kind of less eerie and more intense and sexual to me.”
“To me, too, but I’m trying not to think about that while my elbow is caught in my sweater.”
“Would it help if I did this?”
He leaned over, careful not to disturb the delicate undressing she was still in the middle of. One hand on the side of her face, most of his body still in its own separate space.
And then he just touched his lips to hers.
Soft, achingly soft.
“Yeah. Oh yeah, that helps.”
“And if I were to just…give you a hand…”
“I guess that might be…that might be…” she tried to say, but her sentence just wouldn’t come together. It ran into trouble when he stroked over her bare back to help her slide her sweater off, and failed altogether the moment his gaze roamed over what she had revealed. She was just in her bra now—one that was fraying around the edges and had long since lost most of its pretty pale blue color. In fact, the kindest thing anyone could say about it was that it looked comfortable.