Read Online Seventh Wonder by Renae Kelleigh - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Renae Kelleigh
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stepped into the tub and tugged the curtain closed, then switched the lever to redirect water through the showerhead.
She rinsed off quickly despite how wonderful it felt, using a little of John’s pine scented soap and a small amount of his shampoo. After toweling off, she lifted the soft flannel shirt he’d given her. She slid her arms through the too-long sleeves and shoved them up to her elbows, then buttoned the front. The shirt fit her like a dress, falling just above her knees. She stepped back into her underwear but was loath to don her sodden shorts, which were sure to cause chafing.
For a long moment, she gripped the sides of the sink basin, her eyes cast downward. What would John think, she wondered, if she walked out of this room wearing nothing but his shirt and a pair of panties? Granted, the shirt was long enough that even if she slipped the shorts back on, they’d be invisible underneath...
Meg lifted her gaze to inspect her reflection. Her eyes were half-lidded, drugged from the heat, and her cheeks were florid (whether from the steam or her salacious thoughts she couldn’t be sure). The ends of her hair dripped rapidly cooling water, forming damp spots on her chest.
Just be confident, she told herself. Hold your head high, as if nothing is amiss. Fleetingly she thought of Faye, who would likely think nothing of strutting about perfectly naked.
She snapped her shirt and shorts off the ground and bundled them in a tight rectangle, then threw open the door before she could think further on the subject.
A turntable on the dresser spun Coltrane, languid and smooth. The rain had tapered off to a drizzle that tapped its fingers against the back window. John, meanwhile, stood with his back to her, presiding over the tiny stove. He was freshly dressed in a dry change of clothes, but his damp hair was rumpled, and his feet were bare. It was the least kept Meg had seen him - the effect was quite becoming.
He turned slowly and seemed to do a double take when he saw her. Meg drew in a deep breath. “I feel much better,” she said, dropping her wet clothes on the ground next to her shoulder bag. “Thank you.”
John’s eyes flashed. For a moment she wondered whether he’d been struck mute. Finally, with a curt nod, he cleared this throat and turned back to the stove. “I’m heating water. I know you don’t care for coffee, but I have some loose tea.” He turned back to her and stared resolutely at her face as he brandished a metal canister.
Meg skirted around the table. Rather than taking the canister from him, she curled her hands around his and brought it to her face. Her eyelids fluttered shut as she inhaled the floral fragrance of the tea. When she reopened her eyes a moment later, John stood stock-still before her, his eyes bright and his jaw tense as he watched her face.
“Smells fabulous,” Meg said, releasing his hands and the canister. She smiled complacently before turning away, wondering where on earth she’d mustered this sense of aplomb. She felt his gaze on her as she moved away from him, and she imagined his eyes roaming from the loose draping of his shirt over her feminine curves, to the bare backs of her legs. The thought was a heartening one: it further fueled her newfound courage.
Meg was careful to keep her legs together as she took a seat at the table. She smoothed the shirt as far as she could across her lap and batted her hair behind her ears. John transferred the kettle and two mugs to the table before positioning himself across from her. For a moment, the only sounds were the clinking of silverware and swirling of water as Meg scooped tea into a strainer and John stirred milk and a liberal teaspoonful of instant coffee in his cup. They tasted their drinks in silence.
“You’re doing it again,” Meg observed a minute later.
His eyes creased with implicit knowing, the barest trace of a grin. “Doing what?” He took a sip of his coffee but kept his gaze fixed on her
She rinsed off quickly despite how wonderful it felt, using a little of John’s pine scented soap and a small amount of his shampoo. After toweling off, she lifted the soft flannel shirt he’d given her. She slid her arms through the too-long sleeves and shoved them up to her elbows, then buttoned the front. The shirt fit her like a dress, falling just above her knees. She stepped back into her underwear but was loath to don her sodden shorts, which were sure to cause chafing.
For a long moment, she gripped the sides of the sink basin, her eyes cast downward. What would John think, she wondered, if she walked out of this room wearing nothing but his shirt and a pair of panties? Granted, the shirt was long enough that even if she slipped the shorts back on, they’d be invisible underneath...
Meg lifted her gaze to inspect her reflection. Her eyes were half-lidded, drugged from the heat, and her cheeks were florid (whether from the steam or her salacious thoughts she couldn’t be sure). The ends of her hair dripped rapidly cooling water, forming damp spots on her chest.
Just be confident, she told herself. Hold your head high, as if nothing is amiss. Fleetingly she thought of Faye, who would likely think nothing of strutting about perfectly naked.
She snapped her shirt and shorts off the ground and bundled them in a tight rectangle, then threw open the door before she could think further on the subject.
A turntable on the dresser spun Coltrane, languid and smooth. The rain had tapered off to a drizzle that tapped its fingers against the back window. John, meanwhile, stood with his back to her, presiding over the tiny stove. He was freshly dressed in a dry change of clothes, but his damp hair was rumpled, and his feet were bare. It was the least kept Meg had seen him - the effect was quite becoming.
He turned slowly and seemed to do a double take when he saw her. Meg drew in a deep breath. “I feel much better,” she said, dropping her wet clothes on the ground next to her shoulder bag. “Thank you.”
John’s eyes flashed. For a moment she wondered whether he’d been struck mute. Finally, with a curt nod, he cleared this throat and turned back to the stove. “I’m heating water. I know you don’t care for coffee, but I have some loose tea.” He turned back to her and stared resolutely at her face as he brandished a metal canister.
Meg skirted around the table. Rather than taking the canister from him, she curled her hands around his and brought it to her face. Her eyelids fluttered shut as she inhaled the floral fragrance of the tea. When she reopened her eyes a moment later, John stood stock-still before her, his eyes bright and his jaw tense as he watched her face.
“Smells fabulous,” Meg said, releasing his hands and the canister. She smiled complacently before turning away, wondering where on earth she’d mustered this sense of aplomb. She felt his gaze on her as she moved away from him, and she imagined his eyes roaming from the loose draping of his shirt over her feminine curves, to the bare backs of her legs. The thought was a heartening one: it further fueled her newfound courage.
Meg was careful to keep her legs together as she took a seat at the table. She smoothed the shirt as far as she could across her lap and batted her hair behind her ears. John transferred the kettle and two mugs to the table before positioning himself across from her. For a moment, the only sounds were the clinking of silverware and swirling of water as Meg scooped tea into a strainer and John stirred milk and a liberal teaspoonful of instant coffee in his cup. They tasted their drinks in silence.
“You’re doing it again,” Meg observed a minute later.
His eyes creased with implicit knowing, the barest trace of a grin. “Doing what?” He took a sip of his coffee but kept his gaze fixed on her
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