The Reluctant Nude - Meg Maguire [39]
“Because of the moon.” She felt the bath go tepid. “It’s called phototaxis. A lot of people think they use the moon to navigate. Man-made lights screw with their orientation.”
“They’re trying to fly to the moon?”
“Not to the moon. Toward it, I guess. But when they bump into a window or a porch light, they get confused.”
“Interesting.”
“I suppose.” She shivered. “The water’s getting cold. Do you have a towel?”
“Of course.” He made a quick trip up to the loft and turned away politely to stoke the fire as Fallon left the water for the cool air.
“What do you normally sleep in?” he asked once she was dry and safely shrouded.
“Boxers and a T-shirt.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
She followed him up the staircase, the metal slats like a stony beach under her bare feet. She peered around the dimly lit landing. Max had a smallish bed, a double, covers a mess. The loft was angled sharply on both sides beneath the roof, with just enough room leftover for a bedside table and a small dresser. Too oddly shaped to be of any other use, the triangular corners were piled with books. He dug through a drawer and handed her a threadbare tee and stood close, waiting.
Determined not to appear prudish in light of their increasingly blurry relationship, Fallon dropped her towel and tugged the shirt on, grateful it fell safety past her butt. Max made no attempt to hide the fact that he was watching her. And enjoying it.
She sat at the edge of his rumpled bed. “Where are you going to sleep?”
“I’ll figure something out.”
She glanced behind her, measuring the mattress and its implications with her eyes.
“We could share. Just don’t try anything.”
“Is that okay with you?”
She shrugged. “I wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t. Our boundaries are so messed up anyway. And we’re both single. I don’t mind. But like I said, don’t try anything.”
“Can I suggest things?” he asked, grinning.
She laughed to herself, shaking her head. “Jesus, Max.”
“I like it when you say my name.” He took a seat beside her. “Do you think we’re friends?”
“Yeah, I guess I do.” She turned away and suddenly she could smell him. In the linen and pillows and right there, next to her. His shirt was soft on her clean skin. She felt his fingers on the nape of her neck and turned to him.
“That time your tag really was out,” he said.
Their eyes flickered together for a moment, and she could feel the question of a kiss crossing each of their minds. Max put a hand to her damp hair and pressed his lips against her temple.
He pulled away. “I have to tidy up a few things. I’ll be up shortly.”
Fallon lay down, feeling his weight lift from the mattress and the vibrations as he descended the steps. She buried her face in his pillow and breathed him in.
Max spent ten minutes pretending to care about the state of his home. He tidied the kitchen and added enough firewood to keep the studio warm for another hour, let the vagrant cat in when it mewed at the back door. He did these things without thought, the whole time vexed by the question of what might happen when he joined Fallon in his bed. He thought of how rattled she’d been the morning after he’d hit on her during the walk back to her cottage. He didn’t want that to happen again. But he wanted so many other things far worse.
By the glow of the fire he climbed the staircase, finding Fallon beneath the covers, curled on her side facing the open studio, eyes shut. The light played across her face until his shadow passed over it, making him feel predatory.
He sat and kicked his shoes aside, stripped off his socks and sweater, and lay down alongside her in his jeans and undershirt, safely above the covers.
“Fallon,” he whispered, knowing she wasn’t asleep.
“Yeah?”
“What is that stupid English term for when you lie back-to-front with someone?”
“What? Spooning?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“I guess that is a stupid term.”
“May I spoon you?” he asked, grin unseen but probably audible.
She sighed theatrically and didn’t answer right away. “Yeah, fine. But stay above the covers.”
He complied happily,