Chapter_7
In an instant, Whitney’s gaze involuntarily trailed down the chiseled collarbone of the man before her. She couldn’t help it—her eyes widened, a mix of shock and something she couldn’t quite name flickering in her expression.
He seemed to relax slightly, noticing her stare, and the tension between them shifted, as if the moment had deepened.
Damn it.
Not only did this guy have a face that could stop time, but his physique was the epitome of rugged charm. Broad shoulders tapered down to a lean waist, his abs defined as if sculpted from marble. And those legs—long, firm, and peeking out from the bottom of his towel—were downright sinful.
Wait a minute. Was this guy her arch-nemesis? Looking like this?
Whitney couldn’t believe it. A tear of appreciation escaped her lips before she could stop it.
“Got an eyeful yet?” A cool, teasing voice floated down to her from above.
“Or are you so satisfied with the view that you can’t tear yourself away?” The man’s playful yet piercing gaze drifted to the towel around his waist.
Whitney’s cheeks flamed crimson. It wasn’t like she intended to gawk at that specific area.
“Sorry!” She stammered, trying to turn away, but her body was frozen in place.
“Miss,” he drawled, amusement lacing his voice, “you’re about to pull off my towel.”
Whitney blinked in confusion, then looked down. Damn it, why was she holding onto one end of his towel?!
She tried to hand it back to him, but as she turned to do so, her foot caught on the rug. She stumbled, and in the process, the towel unraveled from around his waist.
“Ah! Sorry!” she exclaimed, her eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment.
“Careful!” He frowned, reaching out to steady her as she fell.
“Thud.”
Whitney slowly opened her eyes and realized, to her utter mortification, that she was sprawled on top of him. Her hand still gripped the towel, which had somehow become draped across both of their backs—completely covering them.
And, as she realized, this left him… exposed.
Whitney froze, her heart racing as she understood just how compromising their position was.
“Don’t move!” His voice was husky, firm.
Whitney’s face burned even hotter. She wasn’t sure if she could move at all. She had never been in a situation like this before, and every inch of her screamed to pull away, but she was frozen in place.
“I won’t look. I’ll just slowly hand you the towel!” she stammered, eyes tightly shut, her hand trembling as she reached for the fabric.
But the man didn’t respond. Instead, his breathing grew heavier.
Peeking through her lashes, Whitney couldn’t stop herself from catching him—looking down her neckline, his eyes smoldering with something she couldn’t quite place.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She quickly glanced down, and to her horror, she saw her pleated skirt was way too short for comfort. Her face flared with heat, and she immediately scolded him, “You pervert! What are you looking at?”
His gaze shifted, following the line of her legs. Whitney followed his eyes down and realized that her skirt was so short it barely covered anything at all. She blushed furiously, her heart pounding.
“Close your eyes!” she ordered, trying to scramble away, but the man’s grip tightened.
“You dressed like this for me to look, didn’t you?” His voice was rough, provocative.
Whitney’s heart skipped a beat, but it wasn’t out of pleasure. Her mind was racing, torn between fury and a strange mix of excitement she couldn’t explain. He was teasing her, pushing her limits. And for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to get angry enough to push him off.
“Shut up!” she snapped, trying to wriggle free.