Page 12 of Avoiding Temptation
“Trust me, you’re anything but naked right now.”
“I’ve never shown this much skin,” I whisper, more to myself than him. I know it’s crazy, seeing as I’m wearing a full-length pair of jeans, but still. It’s the top that makes me feel so exposed.
Lifting his arm, he signals for me to spin around for him.
Sucking in as much confidence as I can muster, I close my eyes and begin turning.
“Waaaait.”
“What?” I look over my shoulder when his warmth hits my bare skin.
“This,” he says, snapping my bra strap, “needs to go.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Trust me.” Before I even have time to consider if I do or not, the fabric around my ribs loosens and he’s pulling the straps down my arms.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Pushing you out of your comfort zone and making you live.”
“Why the hell did I admit that to you?” I mutter, taking over the job of removing my bra. The second I pull it out from under the tiny sequined top, I really feel naked. The fabric tickles against the sensitive skin of my breasts, and the cool air surrounds them. My nipples pucker, but thankfully the sequins cover it. Showing him just how much this is affecting me is the last thing I want.
“Because you know I’m the one to do it. And if it was a one-night-stand you were too scared to admit to wanting, you shouldn’t have any problems looking like you do right now.” One of his hands brushes up my exposed spine, and his breath tickles across my neck.
I shudder, and there’s no way in hell he doesn’t notice.
“What the hell?”
He steps back, giving me a little space to breathe, but then he pulls the back of the jeans away from me and tugs at the tag. “Do you have any regard for people’s personal space?”
He rolls his eyes and reaches out again, I assume for the tag on the top, but knowing it’s currently pressed against my right breast, I turn away from him and pull it off myself.
“You planning on ruining all my fun?”
“You ask that like you’re not having the time of your life right now.”
The smile that curls at his lips makes my breath catch.
“What size feet are you?”
“Five, why?”
He glances down at the cute ballet shoes I wore to work today and quirks an eyebrow.
“Fine. But I’m keeping them. I only bought them a few days ago.”
“Fine. Sort your shit out, and I’ll meet you at the entrance.”
He takes off with the clothing tags, and I panic. “You’re not paying for those.” He doesn’t bother to turn around and respond. Instead, he lifts his hand over his shoulder and flips me off.
I fume, my fists clenching. Why did the guy who caught my eye have to be so infuriating?
I fold all my old clothes into a shopping bag that’s at the bottom of my handbag and slip my feet into my comfortable flats. I dread to think what he’s going to find for me.
When I emerge, the shop is deserted. I start to panic that I’ve been locked in until I take a few more steps and find my partner in crime standing to the side of the doors with a pair of black strappy sandals swinging from his fingers and a woman’s leather jacket draped over his arm.
“There’s no way I can walk in those.”
