Page 144 of Worth the Trip

“High-risk environment.”

“Should I select something safer?”

“Nah.” His eyes moved over my dress. “I’ve reviewed the risk.”

“And?”

“Accepted the consequences.”

He backed out and closed the door.

I shook my head.

The man was ridiculous.

Fine.

But ridiculous.

I changed into one of his black T-shirts and drawstring shorts that required serious negotiation with my waist. The shirt fell halfway down my thighs and smelled faintly of his detergent. When I stepped back into the living room, Landon was setting candles around the room.

He looked up.

Stopped.

I leaned against the doorway. “Problem?”

He set the candle down. “That shirt had a different reputation before tonight.”

“It’s still respectable.”

“Not on you.”

“You blaming me for the moral decline of cotton?”

“I’m watching it happen.”

“You should’ve offered safer clothing.”

“The drawer may have been strategically stocked.”

“I knew it.”

Landon came toward me and settled his hands at my waist. “You comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

That was it. No third interrogation. No speech about changing my mind. He kissed my forehead and went to change.

When he returned in gray sweats and a white T-shirt, barefoot with his locs hanging loose, the cabin suddenly felt much smaller. He dimmed the lights, lit the candles, and we ate on the rug in front of the sofa while rain covered the windows and thunder moved farther over the lake. Landon cracked crab legs and kept dropping the best pieces onto my plate without interrupting our conversation.

“You know I can do that.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you?”