I have seen such male physiques before, but they have always been sculpted in marble . . . and are usually missing a limb or head. Nicolas, from the rear, is perfection, and I find my mouth dry just looking at him. My mouth dry and my body hot, growing warmer by the minute as my gaze drops to his hips, his skin visible through the wet ivory fabric of his drawers—

“Crécerelle?” he says. “May I turn?”

I want to say no. Sorry, but no, I am suddenly very shy, and you must sadly continue facing the cave wall . . . so that I might continue staring at you.

“Yes, of course,” I say, and drop my gaze, not out of modesty but respect, lest I be caught gaping.

He turns, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him tense. He clears his throat quickly and sits nearly as quickly, and I am left standing there, almost naked, feeling as if he barely bothered to look at me. Worse, fearing he got just enough of a look to decide he didn’t want a longer one.

“Would you be more comfortable if I pulled on my shirt and trousers?” I say.

He gives a laugh in a tone I can’t quite decipher. “More comfortable, oui, but that is hardly the point, which is to ensure you are warm and as dry as possible.”

My heart sinks, and the heat evaporates in a blink. “I do not mind dressing if the sight of me is repellant.”

“Repellant?” He twists to face me. “I thought I knew what that word meant, crécerelle, but clearly I do not.”

I sit quickly, pulling my knees in. “I am sorry if that sounded as if I were fishing for compliments. I understand that the situation is uncomfortable.”

“Not in the way you seem to think.” He stretches to lean over far enough to kiss my bare shoulder. “I am trying to be a gentleman and not gape at you with proof of my interest making itself obvious.”

When I frown, he smiles and kisses my shoulder again. “If my meaning is not clear, I will not explain further and only be glad I did nothing to embarrass either of us. And I know you are not fishing for compliments, so I will only say . . .”

He meets my eyes and switches to French, letting loose a torrent of it that has my eyes narrowing.

“That is most unfair,” I say.

“Is it? I would not wish to be overly forward in my flattery, particularly considering your current state of dress and the fact that it is for necessity, and not for my viewing pleasure.”

I roll my eyes.

“Would you like me to say a few words of admiration in English?” he asks.

“Not now,” I say. “The buildup has been too great, and the moment has passed. I will say only that I ought to apologize for having taken so long to tell you to turn around. I was caught up in admiring the view, which is, I must say, quite perfect. You are an excessively handsome man fully clothed, but quite devastating in your drawers.”