“Well I’m not the biggest fan of storms,” he admitted. “It looks like a hurricane doesn’t it?”

“It’s not,” she assured him. “Your water is too cold for a decent hurricane.”

He poured himself another shot. “You sure about that?”

“I’m pretty sure,” she said, gazing at his torso. “You might want to take that off.”

Aiden looked down at his soaked T-shirt. The wet fabric clung to his muscles, outlining every line and groove. “You don’t mind?”

She absolutely did not. After all, there wasn’t any harm in looking at his sculpted abs and firm pecs. Nothing wrong with a little window shopping. “No, I can hang it next to the fire.”

Aiden took his sweet time pulling his shirttail up his body and over his head. He wrung it out in her sink and hand it to her. She took it, wondering if that was a subtle attempt to flirt with her. Any opportunity for this guy to take off his shirt...

“You can grab a towel from the linen closet and dry off,” she said over her shoulder. “And put your wet shoes near the door.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As Antonia draped his T-shirt over the rack that swung from her fireplace, she caught that familiar chill again. Her proximity to Aiden sent small jolts of electricity through her body. She quickly gathered her voluminous curls in a hair tie, balancing them on top of her head. She had no way of checking her appearance, but hoped that she looked okay in her favorite slouchy pajama pants and hoodie.

No, stop that. You’re fine as you are. Instead of fretting needlessly, she took her place before the fire and continued to sip on her straight whiskey. In that moment, Antonia decided to stop struggling with perfection issues. Where had it gotten her in the past? She was now on vacation; in the midst of trying to find herself. Augusta would wear her pajama pants.

“I can’t believe you built a fire,” Aiden said, appearing in the living room with his glass and the bottle of whiskey. One of her bath towels was wrapped across his broad shoulders, his chest was still damp.

She looked up with a frown. “Why can’t you believe that?”

He took a seat beside her and took a sip of his drink. “The washing machine was a major setback for you.”

Antonia chuckled. “I’ll never live that down?”

“It was kinda funny.”

She looked down at his blue jeans, which appeared dark with water. “Are your pants really wet?”

He shrugged. “A little damp.”

Without thinking, she reached out and laid the back of her hand against his thigh. His leg was rock-solid against her touch, and he jumped slightly. “Sorry,” she said, quickly withdrawing her hand, realizing her overstep. “Do you need to dry those too?”

He peered over his glass at her before answering. “Darling, if I come out of these pants, it might be hard to get back into them.”

It wasn’t the fire or the drink that made Antonia’s face flush in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean...” She trailed off, watching his lips quirk with humor. He was teasing her. In this darkness, his eyes glinted in shades of gold and green. Positively wolfish.