Page 49 of It's You
“Jack!”
He turned to face her, but didn’t make a move toward her.
“About the shower…”
“Youdowant company?” he asked.
“No.” She smiled at him to soften her lie. “Well, sort of. But?—”
“Just get warm.” He winked at her and disappeared into his bedroom.
Darcy closed the door behind her, sighing as she looked at her wet-rat hair in the mirror. Damp wisps were pasted onto her face and flattened on her head.
You should have just said yes. Idiot!
She shucked off her cold, clingy jeans and pulled her shirt over her head, throwing both into the hall. She added her bra and panties to the pile, relieved she’d worn fresh, new underwear.
It suddenly occurred to her that he’d know she was naked under his bathrobe.
That should certainly make for a charged afternoon.
Afternoon.She looked at her watch. Sure enough, it was noon. She counted back. He had picked her up at six o’clock. After the drive and the walk, it shouldn’t be any later than ten o’clock, which she felt was generous. Noon made no sense. Time was going too fast. Again.
Darcy unbraided her hair, turned on the water, and stepped into the steamy shower, letting the water course down her cold, weary body. She had long accepted soul flight as part of her life, and she was even coming to terms with binding kisses, eyespeak, and Jack’s strange rapport with wild animals. But losing time still bothered her. Very much. Plus, it seemed to be increasing incrementally. On Saturday, she lost about an hour. Last night, about an hour and a half. Today she’d already lost two hours. It made no sense, Métis or otherwise, and she intended to get to the bottom of it.
When she finished with her shower, she found a soft, navy-blue flannel bathrobe waiting for her, draped across the bed. She toweled off with a big, fluffy towel, then ran her fingers over the robe, imagining the times it had pressed up against Jack’s hard, naked body. She pressed the fabric to her face and inhaled deeply, smelling the essence of Jack, his aftershave, laundry soap, and fresh air all mixed together. It made her knees go weak.
She wrapped herself in the too-big bathrobe and tied it securely with the cord. She found a pair of thick, gray wool socks underneath and smiled at his thoughtfulness as she pulled the warm socks over her feet. There was a comb in the bathroom, and she combed out her long reddish-blonde hair until it was slick and smooth, then pushed it behind her ears.
She still looked a little bit like a drowned rat, but at least she was a warm, clean drowned rat, wrapped in Jack Beauloup’s bathrobe…and nothing else.
10
He was sitting on the living room couch, and on the leather trunk was a tray with two steaming mugs. The rain was still falling in sheets outside, making it dim in the living room, except for the golden light of the fireplace. Jack’s feet were bare, propped up next to the tray, and he wore a pair of warm, soft-looking jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, buttoned once or twice, leaving very little of his gorgeous chest to Darcy’s imagination. He turned his head to watch her pad into the room and smiled, holding out a hand to her.
Damn, you look good in my bathrobe.
Is that right?
Never seen anything that looked as good as you right now.
She took his hand, and he pulled her down next to him.
“You smell good too,” he whispered, bending his head over her hand and kissing it, then leaning back to trace the blue veins that forked on the back of her hand. “Hot cocoa?”
“Sure.” She took her hand back and leaned forward to take one of the two cups between her hands, then scooted back into the couch corner opposite him, putting her feet up on the trunkand crossing them. He watched as the bathrobe parted, baring her legs up to her thighs.
“You’re way too far away, Darcy Turner.”
“If I come any closer, I doubt we’ll end up talking much, and I want to talk.”
“Why do women always want to talk?”
“An observation based on your vast experience with women?”
“What makes you think I have vast experience with women?”
“I don’t want to give you a big head.”
