Page 10 of Alone With You
She blurted, “You’re in your underwear.”
He lifted the coffee in salute. “I heard scientists had keen powers of observation.”
“You’re not dressed.”
“The important parts are covered.” He swallowed a fireball of the brew.
“But…” She waved the orange juice carton, her gaze fixing on and fluttering away from his boxer shorts, landing on his naked chest, and then flitting away again. “You made a promise.”
“I did.” He liked her like this, half-asleep and one step short of sputtering. For the moment, at least, there was no wall of ice between her thoughts and those soft-looking lips. “About not talking about a certain unmentionable event.”
“No. You said—you said there’d be no walking around in lingerie.”
“For you, and Bunny and Fi-fi.” He pulled on the hem of his shorts. “This isn’t lingerie.”
A flush crept up her jaw. The lack of sleep had taken its toll on her wits. He knew she’d spent most of the night in the basement, clanging glassware, running water, unpacking boxes. He hadn’t heard her climb the stairs until nearly two a.m. He’d noted the time, because he’d been lying wide awake atop tangled cotton sheets, trying not to remember the thing he’d promised to forget.
“Those rules apply to you, too.” She turned away from him, yanked open a cabinet, and searched for something. “If I were in plain cotton underwear, you’d consider it lingerie, wouldn’t you?”
He spoke around the tightening of his throat. “I’d make that judgment as I saw it.”Can I see it?
“I consider what you’re wearing,” she said, slamming the cabinet door and yanking open another, “the male version of lingerie.”
“Consider me misinformed, then.” He crossed one arm across his chest and shrugged. “From now on, I’ll wear nothing.”
She slapped open and closed another set of cabinets. The orange juice carton wobbled where she’d placed it half atop the cutting board, half on the counter. He reached over his shoulder, pulled open a cabinet and curled his fingers around a glass.
He held it out for her. “Is this what you’re looking for, Jenny?”
She snatched it, showed him her back, and poured herself some juice. She was freezing into ice again. The time to make a better impression was before she hid within a block of it.
“So,” he said, scalding his tongue on the coffee. “What are your plans for the day?”
“Field work.” She rolled against the counter and cast him an odd look. “I’ll be out of your way.”
“At the national park.”
“Yes.” She took a sip of juice. “I need to collect samples. It’ll take a good long time.”
“You will need help finding them.”
She raised a brow. “I do this for a living. Dr. Springfield gave me directions.”
“Last time I checked, there were no street signs in that old forest.”
“I’ve got a Ph.D. in botany, Macallister. I’ll manage.”
Man, he’d gotten under her skin. He let his gaze slip over the skewed kimono and thought about how he’d like to put her in a better humor—and then pushed the thought away.
He’d made a promise “It can’t be easy searching for green plants in green woods—”
“I’ll stick to my job, Mr. Macallister. You stick to—” she waved a hand around the room “—to whatever is yours.”
He flinched. He knew he deserved that. He hadn’t worked an honest day in over six months, and hadn’t yet bothered to make any effort to do so. Until this very moment, he hadn’t given a damn.
“You’re in this cabin, invading my privacy,” he said, “so that makesyoumy job today.” He slid the half-empty cup on the counter and braced his hands behind him, on the solid granite. “The sooner you’re done with your work, the sooner you can be free of me and my lingerie. So. Let me help.”
She crossed her arms, holding the orange juice aloft. “You don’t even know what I’m doing.”
