Page 28 of A Spinster's Guide to Landing a Lyon

But then his irritation took over his curiosity. “What are you still doing in those clothes?”

She grabbed herself protectively around the waist, but he ignored the missish gesture. “Get out of that wet garb before you catch your death.”

“I-I’m not undressing here. With you.” Her eyes narrowed in fury. Defensiveness. And possibly something else unreadable.

“You’re certainly not keeping them on your body.”

“Y-yes I am.”

“You can’t even still your teeth from chattering. Take. Them. Off.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“Amelia,” he warned, stepping closer. “I will tear those right off of you if you don’t do it yourself.”

“You are an obnoxious oaf.” Her arms were crossed higher now over her chest.

“I don’t care.” It took all of his willpower to keep his fists on his hips and not immediately follow through on his threat. “Getthem off. If you have to wrap a sheet around you, do it. Find something dry.”

And then she dropped her arms like two axes blasting through wood to either side of her body. Damn. He was wet and now he was getting hard. She was a sight to see when she stood her ground. He knew it from the moment he first saw her. Warned himself off of her. When they had met face to face, and again, he told himself that she was off limits. But it wasn’t so easy to remind himself anymore as to the reasons he couldn’t have her. Shouldn’t have her.

And then of course she had to go and provoke him.

“You’re one to talk.” Her chest jutted out, and—by God—he could see her nipples. Holy hell. If that didn’t make him want to lean forward, grab her, and lick them until she screamed his name.

“Benedict,” she chided for what sounded like the third or fourth time, judging from the annoyed tone in her voice. But damn, the swell of her breasts and those perky nipples were a hell of a distraction.

“What?”

“You’re one to talk.” She pointed to his body, which he couldn’t help puffing out his chest just a little bit. “You’re just as wet as I am.”

He doubted that. But he wanted to be. He wanted to wet his—

“Benedict.” Her voice was raised and her hand was swatting him on the shoulder.

“Hmm. What?”

“I’m going to change. But if I have to get out of these wet clothes, then so do you.”

And that really shouldn’t have shocked him. It was his plan all along not to sit in soaking wet fabric until he caught a cold and died.

But he wasn’t sure she had thought through her ultimatum as much as she should have.

And the reason he knew this was because as he followed her into the back room—because really where else was he going to find long enough fabric to wrap around his torso—she came to an abrupt halt.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going to use that sheet around my body.”

And then just to vex her a little more than he ought to, he started to disrobe.

Only…apparently he didn’t think through his threat as much as he ought to because she merely glared at him while starting to withdraw the clothes from her body as well.

They didn’t say a word.

Just matched one article of clothing for another.

His jacket.