Authors: Erin McCarthy
Flat-Out Sexy (37 page)
“No.” She sighed, staring toward her car with obvious longing.
“What’s under your sweater?”
“Excuse me?” She turned so fast to stare at him that she bumped shoulders with him.
“If you’re wearing a shirt underneath it’s probably dry. Just take your sweater off.”
“I have a cami on,” she said, biting her lip.
Ty didn’t know what the hell a cami was, but it sounded promising. “Perfect.”
She seemed to debate for a second, then she took off her glasses and handed them to him. “Hold these, please.”
“Sure.”
Then he didn’t even try to look away when she peeled off her sweater to reveal a little white tank top, small breasts clinging to the fabric, her nipples taut. Yeah, he was just full of brilliant ideas. Nothing like telling the woman to strip off clothing when he was standing on his buddy’s front porch in full view of a dinner party.
“That’s better, right, Emma Jean?” he said as she dropped her sopping wet sweater over the top of the porch railing.
She held her hand out for her glasses and smiled at him. “You know my name’s not Emma Jean, don’t you?”
He did know that. He just didn’t know what her name really was. He suspected that aside from the fact he had never heard her name at any point ever in his life prior to meeting her, that it was his dyslexia making it difficult for him to retain her name. She had spelled it out loud for him previously, but the letters had just jumbled in his head. Which pissed him off severely. But he would cover, make it look intentional. “Yep. But I think Emma Jean suits you.”
Laughing, she put her glasses back on. “It does not. As much as I hate to admit it, I am much more of an Imogen than I am an Emma Jean.”
Ty had almost caught it that time. The end sounded more like gin, like the alcohol. “Why do you say that?”
“Dark hair, glasses.” She pointed to each as she listed them. “Flat chest. Shy. Definitely not an Emma Jean.”
Maybe those very things were the reason he found her so fascinating, though he wouldn’t call her shy. Quiet, but not shy. He gave her a smile, one that even as he did it, he knew was flirtatious. He shouldn’t, not there, not with her, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “You’ll always be Emma Jean to me.”
Imogen laughed. “I can’t decide if that’s a compliment or not.”
“It is, but it’s a subtle one. But now I’m going to give you an obvious compliment.” Even as the words were coming out of his mouth, Ty was telling himself to shut up, to not go there with this woman who was so clearly out of his league, but he didn’t.
Her eyes widened behind her glasses.
They were standing closer than was necessary for conversation, but Ty noticed neither one of them was backing off. He touched her cheek, amazed at how soft her skin was. “You’re very beautiful. Not original, but it’s still true.” Ty ran his fingers across her lips. “Pretty women can start to look the same, but you stand out.”
Imogen started to think that Ty McCordle had consumed way too much alcohol at the party. He was staring at her like he wanted to eat her, piece by piece, or at the very least kiss her, and he was touching her. He was touching her and she was covered in goose bumps that arguably were from the rain, but very possibly might be from a sudden surge in hormone levels. She couldn’t explain this sudden turn in events. It couldn’t really be possible that Ty was interested in her. More likely it was pure convenience. She was on the porch. So was he. He was a flirt, end of story.
Which didn’t explain why he was suddenly stepping back and peeling off his T-shirt to reveal a washboard stomach and a chest that just screamed for her to explore. Oh. My. God. What the hell was he doing?
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice a full octave higher than normal.
“Your hair is still dripping wet and I never went to get you a towel. Use my shirt.”
That was thoughtful and weird and a personal fantasy of Imogen’s sprung to life. And funny how he told her to use his shirt, yet he never let her touch the thing. He was drying her hair himself, squeezing the fabric around the wet hanks of her hair and soaking up some of the moisture. She stood stock-still and just let him, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, afraid to ruin the perfectly beautiful moment that she would never repeat ever again in her very vanilla life.
He smelled like man. There was no other way to put it. He just smelled like a guy, like soap and deodorant and skin, with a hint of aftershave. Imogen had never been so close to what she would classify as a manly man in her entire existence. It was an … arousing experience. That was the best way she could describe it. She had the increased breathing, sweaty palms, tight nipples, and warm inner thighs to prove it.
Moving down to her shoulders, Ty continued to dry her with his T-shirt and she continued to want to touch his chest.
“I can warm you up even more,” he said.
No way was she actually hearing what she was hearing. It was simply too unbelievable. “How can you do that?” She wanted to hear him say it out loud, say what she was hoping he was going to say. It was quite possible she had never wanted anything quite as much as she wanted Ty to kiss her at that moment.
“I can put my arms around you. Heat share.” Ty’s free hand snaked around her waist. “And I can kiss you.”
Wow. Wow. Wow. Imogen’s brain completely froze. He’d said it. Now what the hell did she say in return? Even a simple yes or okay couldn’t seem to eek its way past her paralyzed lips.
Light suddenly flooded over them and Ty swore. He shielded his eyes and turned to the front of the house, though he didn’t remove his hand from her waist. Imogen felt an instant blush crawl across her face. Whoever had turned on the light was definitely going to misinterpret what they were seeing.
It was Elec Monroe, Tamara’s husband. He had turned on the porch light and flung open the front door. “Hey, everything okay—” He stopped talking and a grin spread across his face. “Uh, sorry. Didn’t realize you were, um, hanging out together. Tamara was just wondering where Imogen went.”
“I got caught in the rain,” Imogen said, torn between wanting to stay standing with Ty’s hand on her waist and wanting to put distance between them so Elec didn’t get a negative impression of her. She stayed still, big shocker. “Ty was just …”
Elec held up his hand. “It’s cool. I’ll tell Tamara you’re fine. And Ty, just an FYI, your friend is looking for you.”
Imogen suddenly remembered that Ty had come to the party with Nikki.
That was enough to send her stepping back three feet and grabbing her wet sweater off the railing to use as a shield. How could she have forgotten for one minute that Nikki Borden intended to follow the ten steps to marrying a race car driver and that her target was Ty?
Nikki and Ty were dating.
And he was playing with her.
Elec went back into the house and Imogen turned toward the front steps, rain be damned. She needed to go home and take a hot shower.
“Where are you going?” Ty grabbed her elbow.
Feeling mildly insulted and majorly disappointed in both herself and the fact that she was not going to get to experience a kiss, Imogen paused on the top step, still under the porch overhang. “I’m going home. Please give my apologies to Tamara and Elec for leaving early, and to Nikki for monopolizing your time.”
“It’s not what you think, Emma Jean. I had every intention of breaking up with Nikki after we left tonight. I should have done it two months ago.”
Imogen frowned. Now that had the same ring to it as male statements like “I am going to leave my wife, I promise,” and, “You feel so good with a condom, I just want to feel you without one.”
She may not have a lot of experience dating men like Ty McCordle—okay, she had none—but apparently a man was a man and they were all full of grade-A horseshit.
“Okay,” she said.
Now he frowned, still gripping his T-shirt in his hand. “Okay? What the hell does that mean?”
“It means okay. Break up with Nikki or don’t. It’s irrelevant to me.”
With a deep breath and a wince, Imogen rushed down the steps in the pounding rain and left Ty standing on the porch.
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