She covered her bared breasts, searching frantically for her T-shirt, which was in a clump right beside her. With one arm still shielding her breasts, she snatched it up. The material, sopping wet from the rain, remained in a clinging ball. A broken, frustrated cry escaped her as she struggled with the stupid thing, shaking it with one hand, trying to straighten the sticking cotton. Christian caught her hand, gently stopping her frenzied struggle. She jerked her hand out of his loose grip, but also let the knotted shirt plop back to the hood. Refusing to meet his gaze, she tried to decide what to do, what to say. She was such a fool. She recoiled as something damp but warm settled over her shoulders, and she realized Christian had taken off his own shirt and placed it around her shoulders. She started to shrug the garment off, but then thought better of the idea. Her pride was not worth remaining naked. She slid down from the hood, turned her back to him, and fastened her bra.
