I worked at drying my hair, sitting on a low sofa. My undergarments, luckily, had survived the pool and were only slightly damp, but I’d had to find one of Sutton’s collared shirts to wear.
It was long enough that it was like a mini-dress on me, and I had to admit the material was wonderful against my skin. Not to mention that it smelled faintly of sandalwood.
Raphael had disappeared somewhere, probably to change or something. I had to say, he took forever.
I decided to look around, curious despite myself.
The bungalow was by no means extravagant, but it was still furnished with designer tastes. It was modern, sleek and just a touch minimalistic. I’d been on the verge of looking into the stainless steel fridge when I heard Raphael’s footsteps, light and graceful.
Did I just describe his footsteps? Yeah, there was something wrong with me.
The lights flicked on and I turned to see him leaning against the doorway, smirking.
“You look better in that than I did.”
He was in a pair of dark jeans and a shirt with some Joseph Brodsky quote on it, his obsidian hair tousled irresistibly. It was a strange phenomenon, but dressed casually he looked even more attractive-er, put-together than usual.
“I don’t know about that.” I replied, quickly stumbling over my words, “I mean, you-uh, never mind. Do you have anything to eat?”
Raphael walked over and opened the fridge in demonstration. It was totally empty.
“I don’t really spend much time here,” he replied, “But it’s impossible to get rid of.”
“Don’t tell me, was this house a birthday present?” I asked, my eyes widening to the size of plates when he nodded.
“Only problem is if I try to sell it the generous gift-giver would find out. Not to mention there won’t be many people jumping at the opportunity to buy with the property values skyrocketing.”
I couldn’t believe some of his problems.
“That must be tough.”
Raphael smirked again and, walking over, picked me up around the waist and sat me down on the counter. He leaned against it, his hands palms down on either side of my legs.
“It’s not as tough as watching you walk around in my shirt.” He remarked, his head cocked to one side.
“If you want it I can take it off and give it back to you.” I replied, smiling sweetly.
Oh. My. God. Did I actually say that?! What the hell was wrong with me?
Sutton almost looked taken aback by my response but leant further in, grinning slyly.
“Oh, I don’t want the shirt-” he started in a low voice, being cut off by the sound of a phone ringing.
He let out a noise of exasperation and excused himself, walking out of the room to attend to the call. I waited until he was out of sight to lean back against the cool backsplash, breathing deeply.
I needed a coffee. Urgently.