Page 60 of Not Quite a Scot


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“I’m sorry, Finley. You’re right. Let’s table the heavy stuff and have some fun.”

The relief I felt when he smiled was shocking. I was in over my head in this relationship. Finley hadn’t made the slightest indication that we were in the midst of anything other than a vacation fling.

“Stand up,” he said.

When I did as he asked, he motioned with his hand. “Start undressing. I’ll do the same. We’ll see who finishes first.”

It was an erotic game of chicken. I unfastened my jeans. He unbuttoned his shirt. Now, I wished I had put on socks and shoes. Footwear would have given me extra leverage in this game of strip poker or strip chicken or whatever we were doing.

When I took off my shirt, I sucked in a breath. I sucked in my tummy, too, just to be sure there was no muffin top on display. My bra was perfectly respectable, not see-through at all. However, the sight of it was enough to make Finley’s eyes glaze over.

I heard him mutter a curse. When he shrugged out of his shirt, I had to take a step backward. In Cedric’s house when Finley and I had sex, the lighting was low. Plus, I’d been shy, so I hadn’t spent a lot of time staring. Now I had a full-on view of Finley’s chest. It was enough to make a woman go weak in the knees.

We were each bare above the waist. Both of us still wore pants. Finley had a watch on his wrist, one of those huge ones with the fancy dials. Maybe a Rolex. I couldn’t tell. If we counted his watch and my bra in the same round, we both had the same amount of items left to remove.

Unless, of course, Finley had gone commando under his jeans. If he had, all bets were off. We stood there gazing at each other with the width of the room between us. The house was quiet.

Wanting him was not a pleasant feeling. It was desperation and vulnerability and uncertainty all wrapped up in a fragile question mark.

I reached behind my back with both hands and felt for the clasp on my bra. “Put the watch on the bedside table,” I said, feigning calm, though I was breathing like a racehorse in the final leg of an important race. “Then we’ll only be one step away from the good stuff.”

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