Then he turned on his heel and walked out of the bathroom, leaving me alone with the bubbles and my pounding heart.
So much for a relaxing bath to clear my head.
I pulled the drain on the tub and climbed out, drying my arms and legs and running the towel through my hair before wrapping it around my body and tucking it under my arms.
I didn’t have any clothes in here, since I hadn’t expected company, so I had no choice to face Kennedy in nothing but my towel for the second time in as many days.
When I stepped into my bedroom, he was sitting on the edge of my queen-sized bed, elbows resting on his knees. There was a bottle of whiskey dangling from his hand.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” he mumbled. “Cynthia told me Craig made some comment about meeting you here and I thought—”
“You thought I was going to spread my legs for him just because he asked.”
“No. I thought—” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what I thought. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t owe me an apology.”
He pushed to standing. “Get dressed and come hang out with me.”
“Always trying to get me to put more clothes on,” I muttered. I turned to find my bag.
“What?”
Shit. I hadn’t meant for him to actually hear me, but it was too late now. I lifted my chin. “You are the only guy I’ve met who’s not related to me who wants me to put more clothes on.”
“You’re upset that I want you to get dressed before we drink and shoot the shit?”
I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “I’m not upset about anything. I’m merely making an observation.”
“An observation about how you want me to look at your mostly naked body?”
I spun on my heel and stomped back to the bathroom, but he beat me to it and his hand stopped the door before I could slam it shut. I could only stare at him wide-eyed as he kicked the door wide and leaned against the frame.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What are you doing?”
He took a slug of whiskey. “I care about you, Bree. And if asking you to put clothes on makes you feel bad, then I’m not going to do it. My mom taught me to consider the feelings of others.”
“You know that’s not what I meant. I’m not going to sit around in my towel while we drink.”
“Then lose the towel.”
I growled. Actually growled, I was so incensed. He had me cornered in the bathroom, with a nothing but a towel on, and I felt like the world’s biggest fool. “Do you even know that I’m a girl? A woman? A female with working parts?”
“I can only assume the parade of men in and out of your life equates working parts.”
“Whatever. I’m getting dressed.”
He crossed his arms, eyes glued to me. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”
I lifted my palms. “So leave?”
“Nah, you seem pretty convinced that I don’t see you as a sexual creature. I think we’d both feel better if I watched that towel come off.”
A hot flush rushed through me, all the way from my toes to the tops of my ears.
“You’re blushing.” His lips quirked, and I could almost make out that dimple. “I didn’t even know you did that.”
If he was going to play this game, I could give it as good as I got. “Have it your way then, Kennedy.” I dropped the towel onto the floor and put on my biggest smile as I pushed past him. I could feel his eyes on me, and the silence in the room was palpable.
Settling the bag on the edge of the bed, I unzipped it and found a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. I didn’t bother with underwear or a bra and took my time stepping into the pants and pulling the shirt over my head. Every movement felt heavy with significance, every second loaded with this ridiculous prayer that he was just about to spin me around and kiss me stupid.
Of course, he didn’t.
I carefully arranged my face into a smirk of indifference, as if I’d just won this little power play, but on the inside I was just like my old dog Paws, lying on the deck, miserable and wondering if it was really worth it.
When I turned back, his eyes were on me—had he ever taken them off?—and his chest was rising and falling faster than normal. “You have new tattoos,” he whispered.
I wanted to crawl under the covers. I had just stripped down to my birthday suit in front of Kennedy Hale, and all he was going to say about it was that I had new tattoos? “Do you object?” I grabbed the bottle of whiskey from his hand, our fingers brushing. If ever a moment called for liquid courage, this was it. “I still remember how annoyed you were when I got my first one.”