His state of undress didn't bother him; that it did her was evidenced well enough by the faint blush that colored her cheeks. Had he been in a better frame of mind or even had even an iota of concern for her sensibilites, he may have, possibly, apologized and excused himself to pull on, at the least, a pair of sweat pants. Instead he stared pointedly at her cheeks, a sneer lifting the corners of his mouth.

"You've seen me naked, Dupree. The blush is a bit much, don't you think?"

Oh, he wasn't giving her an inch; he'd imagined this scene in his head a million times. In those daydreams he'd swept her into his embrace and held her breathing how much he loved her and how much he felt that he couldn't go on without her any longer. Funny how, when faced with the wish, he wanted nothing more than for her to just turn around and leave.

Particularly at her next words.

"I know I look like shit. I have for months, Char. If you cared so much, you could have looked me up long before now."

Did I already mention? Well, it bears repeating: he's not giving her an inch.