“Where is that darn tattoo?”
Uncertainty flashed across her gamine features, then she arched a brow. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Hell, yes. He’d like to find it with his hands, his mouth. It took everything he had to pretend that raw, primal need wasn’t clawing through him. “You know I’m going to find it one of these days.”
He saw her take a deep breath and struggled to keep his gaze on her face. Not that it mattered. The sight of her half-naked would be carved into his brain for the rest of his life.
Of course he’d noticed her before. She was right—he’d seen her plenty of times in a bathing suit. She was a good-looking woman with a great body. But he’d never felt like this when he’d noticed. Never been so aware of the powder-fine texture of her skin, the tempting fullness of her breasts, her taut waist. She wasn’t as tall as either of his sisters, but her legs were leanly muscled and strong. The image of those legs wrapped around him exploded on his brain. Startled at his thoughts, he slammed on the mental brakes.
It was too late. The confusion he’d seen earlier in her blue eyes was now panic. She moved toward him, keeping a healthy distance. “I didn’t know you were coming home.”
“Finished my call and thought I’d come back to clean up.” The heated rush of his blood took him off guard.
She stood nearly even with him now, close enough to touch. And he wanted to.
Slanting one arm across her middle, she curled her palm around the side of her neck in a self-conscious motion. “I’m going to go get dressed,” she said huskily.
It was only then that Clay realized her gaze had dropped to his bare chest. Her lips parted slightly and she stared with a feminine appreciation he couldn’t remember ever seeing. At least, not when she looked at him. His heart thudded hard.
She looked up suddenly, and her gaze crashed into his. Something flickered in her eyes. Was it just his imagination, or had the air in the room turned electric? A strange sensation traveled up his arms.
Whatever was going on had him off balance and from the look on her face, he wasn’t alone. He thought about tossing her a robe, but he didn’t have one. She looked dazed. And nervous. She moved toward the door.
He started for the bathroom, trying to sound normal, as if lust weren’t boiling him from the inside out. “I’ll be out in a minute,” he said gruffly. “Meet me in the living room.”
She nodded, turning quickly to leave. As he stepped into the bathroom, he heard her shut the door in the bedroom. Bracing an arm against the door frame over his head, he cursed. He was turned on as hell right now, but he’d seen her face. She hadn’t been afraid; she’d been wary, guarded. With him. He didn’t blame her. There had been nothing friend-like in the way he’d looked at her.
After telling himself for days that the previous instance had been a fluke, that his body’s response to hers hadn’t meant anything, Clay was forced to admit he’d been dead wrong.
Until now, no woman had affected him since Megan’s death. Not physically, not emotionally. Why did Shelby have to be the one? She’d seen his reaction and hadn’t bought his lame explanation about why he was practically drooling over her. For a split second, he’d seen an answering heat in her eyes. Before the nerves set in.
He knew how she was about romantic relationships. Still, he couldn’t deny that he wanted her. Wanted her with more ache than he could ever remember feeling, even for his late wife.
He didn’t know what these feelings were or what they meant. He had told himself that he could ignore what had happened before, that he could make the lust, this increasing physical awareness of Shelby, go away. The cold hard truth was he couldn’t. What the hell was he going to do?
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