Page 7 of Ex Marks the Spot

My face hurts and my sides ache and I can honestly say I haven’t had this much fun in a long damn time.

When I finally catch my breath, I sit up and hug my left knee for strategic coverage. “There isn’t a good segue for this part, so I’ll just say I’m sorry for the...detailed view of my details.”

Hartley rises and mimics my position. “Don’t worry about it. It was an accident. I just hope me landing on you didn’t hurt your details.”

I glance down. “I can confirm my details are intact and unharmed.”

She clamps her lips between her teeth but loses the battle and surrenders to a smile. “Good to know.” Her eyes move to the easel, and she lets out a quiet breath. “Should we get back to work?”

“Hang on, you’ve got some charcoal...” I point to a black smudge on the side of her face.

She swipes the back of her hand over her cheek. “Did I get it?”

“Mostly.”

She tries again. “Better?”

Yes, but I lie and shake my head because now I have a perfectly plausible excuse to touch her. I reach out and gently sweep my thumb across soft skindusted with freckles. Her thick, dark lashes flutter at the contact and she leans into my hand, igniting a spark of electricity in my blood. My fingers itch to yank out her hair tie and sink into her I-just-had-sex-and-now-my-hair-is-a-mess waves.

As if she can read my mind, her gaze slides down to my mouth and back up.

“All set,” I rasp, leaning back. Damn, when did it get so hot in here? I clear my throat and push to my feet, careful to keep my backside facing her.

“Um...thanks. Want some water?” She hops up, snags a bottle off the dresser, and passes it to me without waiting for an answer.

Not yet trusting my voice, I nod in appreciation and twist off the cap. It’s not the bucket of ice I need, but it’ll do for now. I take a long pull as Hartley reassembles her workspace, starting with the easel. When she bends down, her green cotton shorts ride up, up, up the back of her tan, shapely legs.

Damn.

Wanting to plunge my fingers into her hair is nothing compared to the growing desire to grab her by the hips and sink deep inside her. I groan inwardly, but my mouthful of water doesn’t get the message in time and floods my windpipe, sparking a long string of coughs.

Hartley is at my side instantly. “Are you okay?”

My head bobs once and then I’m back to hacking up my wet lungs. She tries to raise my arms over my head, but the ten-ish inches I have on her doesn’t help.

“Get your hands off her, you asshole!” Corrina rushes into the bedroom with a baseball bat at the ready. Megan is on her heels wielding a knife.

Hartley turns, eyes wide and mouth agape, and shoves her hands out. “Stop! I’m fine.He’sthe one coughing.”

Dying is more like it. I suck in a strangled breath and expel more water. The floor starts to sway. My vision swirls and my body suddenly feels a hundred pounds lighter. Before I hit the carpet for the second time, Hartley is back in front of me, lifting my arms up.

“Breathe.”

I slowly inhale, relieved that my lungs are tentatively cooperating.

“Good. Again.”

I end up coughing more, but the room finally stops moving and I no longer feel like I’m going to float away. Well, not from lack of oxygen anyway. From the woman blinking up at me? That’s a different story.

“Better?”

I nod and lower my arms.

“Sorry, for trying to kill you,” Megan says, hiding the knife behind her back.

“Yeah, sorry,” Corrina echoes, wincing.

Taking one more deep breath, I turn my head toward my would-be assassins. “I’ve never been that close to being beaten, stabbed, or drowned before—especially all at the same time—but I admire your dedication to Hartley’s safety.”

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