He also couldn’t help but notice that she smelled.
Guys weren’t supposed to mention that sort of thing, but smells were Cameron’s business-and had helped him put away a sizable bank account-so scent tended to be a priority for him. In her case, she wasn’t using the kind of perfume that came out of a bottle, but around her neck and wrists there was the sweet, vague scent of fresh flowers-as if she’d ambled into a garden with roses and lilac petals and maybe some lily of the valley.
He noticed the delicate scents-which helped him forget that he’d also noticed her spanking-orange underpants. Usually he knew a woman just a wee bit better before he’d gotten a look at her underwear, but when Violet had been on the counter, trying to wash her foot in the sink, she’d pushed up her skirts-no reason for her to have been thinking about modesty since she obviously hadn’t been expecting company.
Hell. He hadn’t planned on barging in without being asked, either, but when a woman yelled out that she was dying, he could hardly stand on her front porch and wait politely for further news bulletins.
Now, though, she frowned at him. “We seem to be in quite an uh-oh situation,” she announced.
That wasn’t quite how he’d have put it, but he sure agreed. “You’d better get your foot up before that sting swells up on you.”
“I will.”
“You’re not still feeling sick to your stomach, are you?” He wanted to directly confront their obvious problem, but since she’d established-incontestably-that she was a hard-core sissy about the bee sting, it seemed wise to get her settled down. He sure as hell didn’t want her keeling over on him.