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I closed the door and took off the tank top, putting it into my little “Yes” pile. I twisted at the waist pretending to stretch to get a glimpse of the door corner. I had to know if he was looking, but I couldn’t let him know I knew. With such a brief glimpse I couldn’t tell for sure, but I think he was. If he was going to be bold, I decided to reward him. I raised my arms to my chest and the flat old swim top I had been using. I turned my back to the door so that not only could he only see my back, I wouldn’t even cast a reflection that he could see from that angle. Off came the top and I was standing there with my bare back towards him. With my thick straight hair up in a struggling ponytail, it was up off my shoulders and the air felt cool. Maybe it was my imagination, but I could feel his eyes on my neck and down my back to the little dimples I had in my lower back. He was definitely watching me, I could hear that he’d stopped breathing. I couldn’t stand like this forever, he’d. Lara Croft was not exactly a social person. Sure, she could be extremely charming and adorable when she wanted to be, but she usually found little pleasure in large gatherings. She hated attending balls of the nobility as much as she hated ceremonies, where she would only attend if her reputation as an archaeologist demanded it. In the whole of last year she had taken part in two such events: The inauguration of the Robert E. Hunter Wing of the British Museum in London, to the furnishing of which she had contributed several important artifacts (for the theft of which she was still wanted by the authorities in the respective countries), and a series of lectures within the framework of the Study at various universities, to which she was coaxed by a dean friend from her student days. In the end Lara got along much better without such stiff, aristocratic occasions. Granted: Even the British aristocracy managed to live without her presence despite her undeniable attractiveness. There were.
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