Page 57 of Now That It's You
She laughed. “Definitely. I think you should take off my shirt.”
“Okay.”
“And your shirt.”
“Right.”
“And your pants. And—I don’t suppose there’s a bed anyplace nearby?”
He nodded, or at least that’s what it looked like in the darkness. “Actually, yes. There’s a cot in the studio,” he said. “It’s not much, but?—”
“As long as it’s horizontal, I’m good.” Meg unclasped her fingers from around his neck and lowered herself to the ground. She tugged down the hem of her T-shirt, then folded her arms to form a shelf under her boobs in lieu of the bra he’d left unhooked. “Lead the way,” she said. “Slowly, though. In addition to having terrible night vision, I’m also without my underwire now. Thank you for that.”
“I’ve got you,” he said, and slipped a hand around her waist.
They were both speaking in whispers, and Meg wondered why that was. Were they afraid of disturbing old ghosts, or afraid of scaring each other away?
Kyle steered her down the hall and paused at the entrance to the studio. She saw him start to reach for the light switch, then hesitate. He must be thinking the same thing she was about the lights, wondering if they’d chicken out without the cover of darkness.
She took a step forward, then felt her foot catch on something. “Ooof,” she said. Kyle’s hands shot out to catch her around the waist, and she felt a flush heating her cheeks. “Sorry. I tripped on something.”
“My fault. There are a lot of somethings to trip over in here.” He flipped the lights on, and Meg stood blinking in the brilliant white wash of it.
She looked up at him and smiled. “Hi, there.”
He smiled back, almost shyly. “Hello.”
“Fancy seeing you here.” Meg tucked a curl behind one ear and scuffed her clog across the floor.
“You’re beautiful.”
She laughed and returned her arm to its folded position, trying to look casual and cool instead of like a girl trying desperately to support her own boobs. “Thank you.” She glanced around the studio, wondering if he’d been kidding about the cot or if she was kidding herself about this being a good idea. “Where’s that bed?”
“Right this way.” He put his hand in the small of her back again and steered her toward the far corner of the studio, while Meg did her best not to trip over her own feet. “I brought it in a couple years ago when I was working crazy hours on a sculpture and I found myself sleeping on the floor just to catch a quick nap.”
“You mean it’s not where you bring all your floozy art groupies for threesomes?”
“No, I use my penthouse in Paris for that.”
She giggled as he ushered her around a tall, tri-panel wood screen she guessed was there to offer some sort of privacy during his catnaps. There were a lot of windows in this place, though she supposed he could just put the blinds down. The cot was small, tinier than a twin bed, and the Batman sheets erased any suspicion that this was Kyle’s regular seduction spot.
Meg walked to the edge of the cot and turned to face him. She hesitated, then uncrossed her arms. A flash of self-consciousness moved through her, and she wondered for the briefest moment what he’d say if she told him she’d changed her mind.
But she hadn’t. Not even close.
He stood frozen before her, seemingly waiting for her to make the next move. So she did.
She caught the hem of her T-shirt in both hands and tugged it over her head, wishing she’d perfected one of those supermodel disrobing maneuvers she’d seen on TV.
But the look on Kyle’s face told him he wasn’t concerned with her moves.
“Holy Christ,” he said as Meg dropped her T-shirt on the floor. Her bra was tangled up in one of the arms, so she stood there topless and exposed in the bright wash of light from the studio.
His reaction made her bold, so she straightened her back and opened her arms to the side to give him the full view. A cruel puberty had left her occasionally self-conscious about her breasts, but this wasn’t one of those times. In moments like this, she knew they were her nicest asset.
Meg licked her lips. “In case you were wondering, they’re real.”
“I know,” he said, taking a step forward and sliding a hand up the curve of her waist. “Believe me, I know.”
