Oh, Keep Your Shirt On: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Shaped By Love Book 2)

by Michelle Pennington

  I climbed up the two steps and threw my legs over the edge. I had to pause to pick out another wedgie before I sank down into the heavenly water. After turning on the jets, I forced myself to relax and not think. Not about anything. Especially Damien or the mess we’d gotten ourselves into.

  There were plenty of things to be excited about too. When I got out, I could head in and order a pizza and spend the evening in my studio. Friday was payday, and I’d be able to not only pay my rent and all my bills but have enough left over to update my wardrobe for work. Maybe I’d even go buy some higher-end makeup and jewelry. Yes. That would be amazing.

  For a while, I was able to avoid thinking about the fact that I wanted to see Damien. It occurred to me at last that I was trying to forget about him while enjoying his hot tub. The man turned me into an idiot, and if I didn’t already have a dozen other reasons why I shouldn’t let myself fall for him, that one was enough. I preferred being rational and independent, thank you.

  When I started to feel a little dizzy and sweat, even with a cool evening breeze, I decided I’d better get out. As I climbed out over the edge, the swimsuit slipped up my butt crack again. I yanked it out, feeling more and more annoyed by it, then began the process of wrestling the cover back over the tub. I worked it halfway over but had to lean across from the front as far as I could reach to pull it the rest of the way on. Of course, the swimsuit couldn’t handle the strain and it rode up on both my butt cheeks. I could either keep digging it out or just get the job over with and then fix it. So I left it and kept tugging on the cover.

  “Let me help you.”

  I spun around with a gasp as soon as I heard Damien’s voice, then desperately corrected my wedgie. So embarrassing. He had to have seen at least half of my very white butt. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s my hot tub, remember?”

  “But you said you were at a friend’s house.”

  “Did you really think I wouldn’t hightail it over here as soon as you said you were getting in? But I guess I’m too late, dang it.”

  “You’re so annoying. Why do you think I was checking where you were? I wanted to get in alone.”

  “Yeah. I get that. You always do. What I don’t get is why.”

  “Why? Well, if you really have to know, it’s because I’m self-conscious, okay?”

  He looked as confused as if I’d just spoken in Russian. “About what?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Come on.” When he shrugged his shoulders helplessly and looked me over, I realized how stupid it was to draw attention to myself. But I might as well just come out and say it after that. “Look, you may not realize how skinny I am when I’m wearing regular clothes, but there’s no hiding all my sharp bones and lack of curves in a swimsuit.”

  “Lack of curves? I got a view on my way out here that proves that wrong.”

  My already flushed face got even warmer. “Okay, so my butt is okay, I guess. But the rest of me looks like my body took a detour around puberty and got stranded at twelve years old. So, forgive me if I don’t like showing it off.”

  Embarrassed and unable to stand his scrutiny any longer, I reached for my towel. But Damien caught hold of me and pulled me around to face him.

  “You do not look like a twelve-year-old, Krista. Trust me. I don’t know what you see when you look in the mirror, but to me you’re all woman.” With his hands still gripping my shoulders, he ran his thumbs across my collar bones in a featherlight caress. “How do I tell you the hundred reasons I can’t take my eyes off you without sounding like a complete pervert?”

  “Or a liar.”

  He shook his head in frustration. “Maybe there’s a better way to convince you.”

  Whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t a kiss. Especially not like this one. Not a brash, assertive kiss without even a hint of indecision. How could he kiss me like this? Without a hint of awkwardness or restraint? His lips moved over mine with purpose, not so much demanding my response, but compelling it. And even though kissing him back was the worst idea I could think of, it was also the most natural, most instinctive reaction I’d ever experienced.

  The almost bruising power of his kiss was at odds with the gentle caress of his hands as they swept up and down my back, his fingers rough against my bare skin above the low back of my suit. Then he cupped my hips with his big, manly hands. Never before had I felt the shape of them in such a way, as if my body had morphed into a goddess-like femininity.

  Not only was every nerve in my body shimmering like sparklers on the Fourth of July, but for the first time in my life, I felt truly, truly beautiful. I didn’t even understand how it was possible, except that something about his lavish attention felt like worship.

  All too soon, his kiss gentled and slowed, his lips capturing mine in a last tender tug of war—lingering and releasing and returning again. When he broke away, it seemed to take enormous effort. But even then, he stood staring deeply into my eyes, breathing hard, as if on the brink of diving in again.

  That look was no less compelling than his kisses had been. I felt both captivated and vulnerable, knowing there were things passing between us that I wasn’t ready to say or even admit to myself. Impossibly, kissing seemed safer. Addicting and consuming, yes, but I could no more withstand the burning intensity of his eyes than I could let this physical connection deepen into something more dangerous.

  So then I kissed him. And as if it was exactly what he’d been waiting for, Damien followed my lead, allowing me to control the direction and heat of each new kiss. He accepted as readily as he gave, with the same patient confidence that he did everything else. Never in my life had I felt so powerful in my womanhood as I did exploring this connection with someone so completely masculine.

  But connections were dangerous. This was beyond foolish. And there was only one way to protect myself before it was too late. Shaking my head, I pushed myself out of his arms. “What are we doing?”

  His arms fell away at once. If I expected him to be frustrated, I was wrong.

  Calm as ever but with a strong undertone of humor, he said, “Pretty sure this is called kissing. I’m positive I want to do a lot more of it, and it’s obvious you wouldn’t mind either.”

  “But this,” I paused to wave my hand between us, “was all fake, Damien. We were just trying to get our mothers off our backs and save you from Victoria. That? That was…”

  “Not fake.” His voice was so matter of fact. And even cheerful.

  “Why are you always so blasted calm about things?”

  “Do I look calm? I am not calm. I am trying really hard to not grab you again. This right here…?” He motioned to himself. “This is restraint. And trust me. After the last couple of weeks, I’ve used up a lifetime supply of it.”

  I could only stare at him. “Are you saying you like me?”

  “Like you? Sweetheart, I’m way past like. Ever since you turned up wanting to check out the duplex, I have been trying to figure out how to get you to give me a chance. And even though I desperately wanted you to go to the wedding with me to shake Tori and my mother off my tail, I had every intention of making the most of it for myself too.”

  “But why? I’m scary and intimidating, remember? I don’t know how to flirt or smile pretty or do anything girly at all.”

  “You were pretty freaking girly just now.”

  I ignored him. “A cactus has a more friendly personality than I do.”

  Damien grinned at me. “Well, that’s true.”

  “You aren’t going to argue?”

  “No. That doesn’t mean I don’t want you in the worst way. I’ve never been so challenged and fascinated by a woman in my life.” He reached for me, his intentions clear in his eyes.

  I stepped back out of his reach. “And how long will that last?”

  “What?”

  “You think I don’t know how this goes? Right now, you’ve decided I’m interesting. Like, hey, let’s see what a mean girl with small boobs is like. You’ll g
et tired of me, though, and then some girl like Jen or Victoria will come along and you’ll be ready to move on.”

  “Not someone like Victoria.”

  I pounced on that.

  “Oh, but maybe someone like Jen?”

  “No. I just meant, give me some credit. At least Jen isn’t crazy. And I’m not telling you we should run off tonight and get married. You think I don’t know that would send you running faster than anything? But why can’t we figure out what this is between us?”

  “Because nobody stays in my life for long. And since I can’t hold on to people, I don’t grab onto them in the first place.”

  “Well, you’ve grabbed on to me often enough. And who says I’m like anybody else?”

  I laughed. It had a bitter, rough-edged sound to it that twisted my stomach. “That’s my whole point. It’s not about you or anyone else. It’s about me. I’m just not meant for love. I never have been.”

  “You’re wrong, sourpuss. And I’m not giving up just because you don’t know how to trust your heart.”

  I stared him down, looking for some crack in his confidence—some sign that he wasn’t as stubborn as I was afraid he was. Finally, positive that this conversation was going nowhere, I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around myself. “Well, I guess we’ll just see who is more stubborn then.”

  “Fine with me.”

  I stormed off, but taking big steps made my swimsuit ride up and I had to resist the urge to yank it out because I could feel Damien watching me. Just what I needed to end the day—two pains in my butt.

  Chapter Twenty

  Over the next few days, I spent a lot of time in my art studio after work. Partially because it felt good to work out some of my emotions with violent slashes of paint on canvas, and partially because it helped me avoid chance encounters with a constantly shirtless Damien.

  He was just doing it to mess with me now.

  When I got home from work on Tuesday, he was washing his truck in the driveway with his shirt off. It might not have been so suspicious except that it was almost dark and it was only forty degrees outside. But no, by looking at the man cheerfully working away, you’d have thought it was a hot summer day.

  “Hey, Krista. Have a nice day?”

  “Yes,” I said, keeping to the one safe word as I tried to ignore the way his pecs begged for my attention with every sweeping motion of his arm. I went inside without a second glance—or at least, without a third—because I was so not as weak as he obviously thought I was.

  On Wednesday, he came over to return my cardigan that I’d left at his house and forgotten about. He wore gym shorts and tennis shoes but nothing else. “I’m going to work out in my gym if you want to join me.”

  “Not going to happen. Even if it weren’t for the fact that you’re apparently allergic to shirts, I’m painting tonight.”

  “Do you need a model?” He looked way too ready to volunteer.

  “No thanks. My studio is an arrogance-free zone.”

  He only laughed. Just once I wanted to come up with an insult that would convince him to leave me alone.

  Since I got a note that same night saying the “management” would be coming by tomorrow to switch out my air filter, that one clearly hadn’t.

  Which is why I made a point of staying out really late on Thursday to avoid him. I even went to a movie at seven o’clock even though there was nothing I wanted to see. Despite getting home just before ten o’clock, however, when he surely should have been long done, he knocked on my door thirty seconds after I’d stripped out of my work clothes.

  I stared at myself in the mirror, taking in my tired eyes, the hair falling out of my bun, and vague remnants of makeup on my face. Perfect.

  “Krista, I’m here to change your air filter.”

  And then I remembered I also had nothing on but the black bralette Angela had given me and a pair of matching panties. There was no way he’d come into my bedroom. I didn’t know where the air filter went, but I knew it wasn’t in here. Still, I dove into a pair of leggings and a T-shirt before going out to yell at him.

  I met him coming up the stairs just as I was about to go down. “You did this on purpose.”

  He smiled in his chill, friendly way. “Your shirt is inside out.”

  Looking down, I saw he was right. Curses. “Why did you come so late?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

  “Oh, I just didn’t get around to it till now.” He shrugged and headed into the second bedroom where my art studio was, flicking on the light switch as he went through the door. Then he froze, holding the air filter out like a shield. “Whoa. That is…”

  “Anger. That’s what it is. And it’s all your fault.”

  He walked closer and studied my latest painting. “If you say so, but I’m telling you, that mess of red and black looks a lot more like bottled-up passion than anger.”

  “It does not. I have zero bottled-up passion. Now, didn’t you come here to change the air filter? Why don’t you get on with it?”

  He shrugged and headed over to a panel I’d never noticed on the wall over the closet door. He opened it but paused. “You know, I don’t want to get this shirt dirty.”

  He reached behind his back like guys do to take their shirts off. The first few inches of bare abs made me catch my breath—somehow watching him take off his shirt was even sexier than just seeing him without it—but I finally manage to protest. “Stop. Don’t you dare.”

  But he only grinned and pulled it the rest of the way off. “You don’t have to stay in here, you know. Or maybe you want to.”

  When I glared at him, he just laughed and reached up to get to work, so I swung around and left. As I fled downstairs into the dark hall and living room, I wondered why Damien had always been so immune to my mean looks. It wasn’t fair. I had no other weapons.

  I turned on the light over the sink and slammed around, opening cabinets, hoping Damien would hear and decide to sneak back out again rather than face my wrath. Doubting it would work, however, I consoled myself by putting my kettle on the stove and dropping a chamomile teabag into a mug. The water had just begun to simmer when Damien came back downstairs with his shirt tossed over his shoulder. He headed for the front door with the old filter in hand, and for several blessed moments, I thought I was safe.

  But a second later, I felt a pang of disappointment. Just because I wanted to lay into him for annoying me so much. Not because I missed him.

  Definitely not that.

  My kettle whistled, so I turned to take it off the burner. At that moment, when my back was to the door, I heard him come in again.

  I smiled.

  Such a traitorous, frustrating reaction, but at least—thank the heavens—he hadn’t seen it. I bit my bottom lip and schooled my features back into a sullen expression as I poured the hot water into my mug.

  “Well, you’re all taken care of,” Damien said, coming up behind me. “You’ll have lots of nice clean air now until I need to change the filter again in two months.”

  The last thing I needed to do was stand around alone with Damien in a dimly lit room. Not looking up at him, mostly because I was afraid to, I asked, “Is this how you take care of your other tenants?”

  He turned, leaning back against the counter and getting way too comfortable. “Nope. You get special treatment.”

  My eyes flashed to his. “I didn’t ask for it.”

  “Well, I’d be an old man ready for my grave if I waited for you to ask for it. Besides, you can’t get too mad at me when I’m doing you another favor tomorrow.”

  I looked at him blankly, not sure what he was talking about.

  “I’m ending things with Tessa, remember? Do you have any instructions for that by the way?”

  “Just show up at the office around lunch time with some flowers and act like you’re apologizing. The receptionist will call me, now that I’m Tessa’s secretary, and I’ll bring you up. We’ll try to make sure at least a few people witness it so the ru
mor mill can take care of the rest. Easy, right?”

  “Oh sure. But since I’ll probably need to wear a shirt for that, I’ll be sure to wear a tight T-shirt to show off my awesome build.” His eyes glinted teasingly, and it was so strange because he was at once arrogant and adorable—mostly because I knew he didn’t take himself seriously. And he didn’t expect me to either.

  “You’re completely shameless. But I have news for you. I’ve gotten so used to seeing you like this that it doesn’t even affect me anymore.”

  “Oh yeah?” he asked, straightening.

  “Yeah.” It was hard, but I kept my expression dialed to “bored beyond words”.

  Wait, why was he coming around the counter?

  “So, basically, you’re telling me I need to step up my game.”

  My eyes widened despite myself, giving away my reaction to his coming closer. “Don’t you dare try to kiss me,” I said, backing up a step.

  All at once, he pulled his shirt off his shoulder and whipped it behind my back, catching it with his other hand. He used it to tug me closer. “I was going to tell you the same thing.”

  “But I wasn’t going to.”

  He smiled, his eyes steady on mine. “Maybe not. But you want to. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Sweetheart, you don’t talk much or smile much, but you’ve got the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen.”

  His words caught me off guard, and I stopped straining away to put distance between us. “I do?”

  “I didn’t think you knew. That’s why you’ve never managed to scare me off. I see too much vulnerability and curiosity in your eyes to take all your scary glares seriously. And right now…”

  Why did I feel so…melty and fuzzy? “Hmmm?”

  “I see exactly what I was hoping for.” He bent closer until his lips were inches from mine.

  My doorbell saved me from my weak, pitiful self. At least, that’s what I told myself when it rang.