The sculptor; part 3

I feel cornered somehow. Not really by him. He just leans against the counter, almost casually despite his lack of clothing. But by myself. I long to touch his smooth hairless chest. Feel the warm with my fingers. Explore the dark trail leading towards....stop it!
You'll make a fool of yourself!

"Hi," I say. And offer him my hand. "I'm Hálwen."

He keeps staring in my eyes. Ignores my hand.

"Hálwen." He seems to taste my name. "What an odd name."

He looks at me pensive, stroking his stomach with his hand. Drawing attention to the tight muscles under his tan skin.

I feel my cheeks burn.

Then shrug my shoulders and return to the teacups, rinse them under the tap.
He doesn't speak for a while. But I still feel his eyes on me. Same as yesterday, I keep feeling his physical presence and his acknowledgement of mine. I know he follows my every move, making them awkward and rigid.

I freeze when I suddenly feel a warm hand on my shoulder; moving to my neck, thumb in the nape, touching my slightly sweaty hair - softly caressing the skin.

I'm not sure if I want to shake him off or start purring.

"Why so tense, beautiful child."

I rest my hands on the counter, breathe in with a shudder.

"I'm not a child."

I turn and look up in his eyes. Amazing eyes. Incredible colour. Huge irises. Dilated pupils like bottomless wells, eyes surrounded by thick brown lashes.

He scans my face, lowers those eyes. A sensation like he is touching my breasts.

"I know." He says enigmatic, gazes back to my eyes, to my mouth, my ears. It feels as if he caresses my face.

I lift my hand, willing to touch the soul patch under his full under lip, when Martin walks into the kitchen.

"Well helloooo." He says.

"Martin." Relieved and disappointed I turn to my friend. "Almost ready."

I smile.
Look back at the rogue sculptor who takes a step back and turns to Martin.

"Well, well." He says with one brow lifted. "She has a male visitor."

Martin laughs nervously.

Sticks out his hand in an awkward way and says; "Hi, I'm Martin, a friend of Hálwen. You're a flatmate? Obviously, duhhh, draped in only a towel."

"Flatmate?" The half naked sculptor says with a bored look on his handsome face.

He then sighs and walks out of the kitchen, one look over his shoulders - from my feet to my chest.

"See you around, flatmate..."

And he's gone.
Leaving me flushed, and Martin still standing with his untouched outstretched hand.

He whispers. "What a gorgeous guy! Was I interrupting something? You never told me..."
"Shut up." I continue making the tea, inwardly shaking.