But it was so strange to think of Peter in the shower right now, rubbing his naked body down with soap. It gave her a jittery feeling that she really needed to get under control.
What he looked like in the shower was none of her business. She might be wearing his ring, but it was only for the next forty-three days.
The sound of spraying water stopped, which meant he was getting out of the shower. She forced herself not to visualize what he looked like, stepping out onto the bathmat, soaking wet, water streaming down his chest, his long legs, his face, his ass.
She was still trying to clear her mind of the visual a minute later, when the bathroom door opened and Peter stepped into the room, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and rubbing his wet hair with the towel.
She stared, startled and hopelessly drawn to the sight of his lean body, tight muscles, firm flesh. Her eyes dropped unerringly to his groin, the outline of which was visible beneath the fabric of his underwear.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, lowering the towel slightly as he saw she was sitting up in bed. “I didn’t know you were awake.”
Kelly told herself to stop looking at him, but her eyes completely ignored her mind. “I’ve got an eight o’clock class.”
“I know that.” He gave her that little arch of one eyebrow as he started towel-drying his hair again. “You think I don’t know your schedule?”
“I know you know.” She was starting to feel a little flushed as he turned around to lean over and open a drawer of the dresser. He had the best butt she’d ever seen on a man in her life. “I was just saying.”
He glanced back at her over his shoulder. “You were just saying what?”
She had absolutely no idea what she was trying to say. “Nothing. Just that I always get up by seven.”
She prayed the response was basically lucid, and was relieved when he turned back to pull out a pair of jeans without further comment. He worked at the hotel on Monday afternoons, but he always had time to come home to change after class into his work clothes.
She should be getting out of bed and heading into the shower herself, but she couldn’t make herself move yet. It was so strange to watch him get dressed. It occurred to her that she should be polite and give him some privacy, but he was the one who had stepped into the bedroom in nothing but his underwear. If he’d wanted privacy, he should have dressed in the bathroom.
He didn’t look remotely self-conscious as he pulled on the jeans. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, his eyes studying her face closely.
She really, really hoped he couldn’t see what she’d been thinking about just now. She wasn’t exactly aroused, but she was flustered and shivery and a little embarrassed. Something about seeing him like this was so intimate—more intimate than anything else she could remember.
To cover, she said the first thing that came into her mind. “I was thinking about the first time we met. Do you remember that?”
“Of course I remember that. You think I don’t remember when I first met you?”
He looked almost offended, which confused her even more. “I just meant you might not remember all the details. Guys don’t remember things like that, do they?”
He frowned, walking over to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, still bare-chested and now strangely intense. “It was a Monday, the first day of class in the fall semester three years ago. History of the Civil War. You were five minutes late and tried to sneak into the classroom without anyone noticing. You were wearing a blue shirt and your favorite jeans. You had to climb over me to get to the only empty seat in the class, and then Dr. Higgins said, since you were late, you could tell the class something interesting you knew about the Civil War.”
Kelly’s heart was doing the craziest gyrations in her chest as Peter spoke, his eyes resting on her face with something that looked fond, almost possessive. “You remember all that?”
“Of course, I do. You proceeded to explain the whole history of Captain Beaufort in the Confederate Army. When Dr. Higgins asked how you knew all those details, you said you’d heard them as bedtime stories since you were four years old. I knew right then that I had to get to know you.”
She was smiling like an idiot. “You only wanted to get to know me because of this old house. Don’t try to pretend it was something personal.”
“It was—”
“It was the house. The first thing you asked me after class was if I lived in the old Beaufort house and if we had any plans for restoring it.”
“Well, I had to think of something to say. And I’d always thought it was a gorgeous old house.” He was smiling too—just as much as she was. “But it was you I wanted to get to know.”