“We need to get out of these wet clothes and warm up.” Alastair started undressing as he spoke, toeing off his boots.
Rainne looked away. It felt too intimate to watch. An intimacy couples shared. One she didn’t have the right to anymore. Undressing around Alastair brought back memories of the last time they’d been alone together. Memories that made her ache with loss and longing.
“Maybe there’s something we can wear in the lockers?” she said, trying to avoid undressing.
She pulled them open one by one. She found a few crime novels, a couple of packets of biscuits, cans of Coke and a Game Boy, but no clothes.
Alastair was watching her. “We’ll hang our clothes over the chair in front of the fire. They’ll dry in no time.”
Yeah, and in the meantime, she got to flash her wares to the man who didn’t want her. That wasn’t humiliating at all. Yeah, right.
Alastair didn’t seem affected by stripping in front of her. He tugged off his black woollen sweater to reveal he wore nothing underneath. The warm glow from the fire glinted off a set of abs he definitely hadn’t had the last time she’d seen him naked. She swallowed hard at the sight. He’d been gorgeous then—now he was devastating.
“Rainne.” His voice snapped her eyes back up to his face. “Get out of the clothes. You need to warm up.”
She fidgeted with the zipper on her coat. Alastair watched her as though she was a bug under a microscope. He seemed to come to some conclusion, and smiled slowly. The first smile she’d seen on him since she came back to town. And it was devastating. The sharp angles of his face transformed, softening into something sexy and irresistible.
“What’s the matter, Rainne? Shy? An ex-commune girl like you shouldn’t be worried about getting her kit off. Didn’t you grow up in a clothing-optional environment?”
“You’re getting hippies mixed up with naturists. We didn’t run around naked. We wore tie dye and Birkenstock. And we never, ever spontaneously undressed in front of each other.”
Well, mostly never. She remembered a few late night campfires when she was a kid where she’d witnessed things she probably shouldn’t have seen. And she wasn’t just talking about the fact most of the people she lived beside didn’t know the sharp end of a razor. There’d been one guy who looked like a yeti when he took his shirt off. The hair on his back had been long enough to plait. Rainne was all for getting back to nature, but drew the line at living life as a walking carpet. Seriously, how badly would it hurt the environment to shave your back? It wasn’t like smooth skin hurt the ozone. There really was no excuse for it.
“You’ve slipped away again.” Alastair sounded amused. “What’s it going to be? Are you going to be sensible, and brave, and take off your clothes so you don’t die of hypothermia? Or do I have to do it for you?”
Rainne’s head jerked at his offer. No. Not offer. Threat. She gave herself a mental head slap. Wishful thinking was getting in the way of reality. Again. But then, reality was a nasty witch.
“Rainbow. Take off your clothes.” His voice was low, and slid over her skin like hot honey.
His eyes darkened as he took a step towards her. “Strip.” The low rumble vibrated through her body, making parts that should have frozen off in the cold snap to attention.
He reached for the zipper on her coat. His eyes held hers as he lowered it slowly. Rainne wanted to close her eyes and sway in place, but her vision was filled with muscled perfection and she couldn’t look away. She clenched her fists at her side to stop from running her fingertips through the smattering of hair between his nipples.
The coat fell open. Alastair nudged it off her shoulders and she let it slide to the floor.
“Get rid of that useless hat,” he ordered gruffly.
Rainne blinked up at him. “It’s the Pink Panther.”
He stared at her for a second, then his face closed up. She watched his eyes harden and his lips thin. The moment was broken. And Rainne felt bereft.
He reached for the hat, pulling it off her head in disgust. “It isn’t meant for the cold. It’s decoration. Not function.” He threw it to the floor. “Get out of those wet clothes. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here. There’s no time to mess around.” Then he turned from her and continued to undress.
Rainne looked away as she picked up her coat and hung it on the hook beside Alastair’s leather jacket. When she turned back, Alastair was unzipping his jeans. Her mouth went dry as he stepped out of them. He was wearing a pair of form-fitting black cotton boxers. Had his backside been that drool-worthy years ago? This was torture. Like a dieting woman being locked in a candy store. His thighs were like tree trunks, and each time he moved the muscles flexed. Rainne wanted to kneel in front of him and brush her cheek over his thighs. She was losing her mind. She looked away and wiped her mouth, just in case a little bit of drool had escaped.
“Rainne. Clothes,” he snapped.
“Oh. Yeah.”
Her pink fluffy sweater was wet around the cuffs, so she took it off while Alastair dragged the remaining chair in front of the fire and draped his clothes over it.
“Gimme that,” he said, and she handed him the sweater. “I need the jeans and socks.”
Like she didn’t know that already. But taking them off would leave her exposed. And she didn’t have washboard abs. She had a little pouch where her flat stomach should be. She looked like a freaking kangaroo.
Firm hands covered hers and her breath stopped dead.