Page 63 of Men or Paws
Rocco’s gaze immediately dropped to my chest.
I glanced down, wondering if I had some sleep drool on my shirt.
It was much worse than that.
I had completely forgotten that I had slept in theCaptain Claptonmovie T-shirt that Marcello had left for me in the guesthouse.
It gets worse.
I wasn’t wearing my usual sleep attire below the waist since I’d taken off my pajama bottom in the middle of the night when I had gotten hot. I had no idea if I was flashing Rocco my purple panties at that moment since the T-shirt was on the shorter side, but I wasn’t going to take a chance.
I pulled the bottom of the T-shirt down to my kneecaps.
“I didn’t see anything,” Rocco quickly blurted out.
His eyes told a different story, though, like he was next in line at an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet and an employee had just put out a fresh tray of sweet and sour pork.
“Right,” I said, my face heating up from embarrassment. “You’re not a very good actor.”
Rocco grinned. “You keep telling me that, yet there you are, wearing my movie T-shirt like an adoring fan.”
“I like the material. And I’ve never even seen the movie.”
“You practically quoted the entire synopsis word-for-word when we talked on the phone,” Rocco said proudly, like he had caught me lying, which he definitely had. “Who’s the bad actor here?”
I huffed. “Just close your eyes or turn around, Mr. Smarty Pants. I need to go make myself decent.”
“As you wish,” he said, closing his eyes.
“No cheating.”
“I’m a gentleman.”
I snorted. “Right . . .”
Turning around, I headed to the bedroom to change out of theCaptain ClaptonT-shirt and cover up my bottom half. I barely made it five steps before stepping on something hard that squealed like a dying rat. Or maybe the sound came out of me since I lost my balance and tumbled to the floor with an impressive thud.
“Are you okay?” Rocco asked, quickly at my side on the floor, his hand reaching behind my head to support it.
I blinked a couple of times, staring up into his eyes. “I think so . . .”
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have thrown Houdini’s toys in the middle of the floor. That was totally my fault.” He gently slid some hair off my forehead, a concerned look on his face. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you hurt anywhere?” He scanned my body, starting at my neck, then working his way south, slowing down around my stomach and waist, then continuing down my legs to my toes.
Oh, no.
I glanced down, mortified at what I saw.
The T-shirt had hiked up my body.
My stomach, purple panties, and every inch of my legs were one hundred percent exposed to the elements and in the direct path of Tropical Storm Rocco.
Thank God I shaved.
Oddly enough, I was temporarily paralyzed, my heart racing, enjoying way too much the way Rocco was devouring me with his eyes. Surprising myself, I was contemplating letting him continue because I’d never had a man look at me that way. Luckily, I snapped out of it and took action before the storm turned into a hurricane.
I yanked the T-shirt down, sat up straight, and reached over to grab one of the oversized pillows from the couch, covering whatever I could with it. “Behave.”
Rocco cleared his throat. “I didn’t see—”
