Page 55 of (Not So) Famous in Paradise

“Yes! Exactly! Then I do this…” I walk slowly toward him, toes pointed and shoulders thrust forward with each step. When I’m within touching distance, I hold up my hand, then curl my fingers into my palm and drop my arm to my side. My chin drops to my opposite shoulder, away from Zach.

“Georgia,” he says longingly.

“Yes?” I swing my head to look at him.

He steps so close, our chests are almost touching. “I need to ask you something.” The words come out in one breath, then he looks away with a deep sigh.

“Yes?” I reach for him, my fingers barely grazing his shoulder.

He turns his eyes back to me. “Could you possibly…” His eyes dart down and back up. “What I mean to say is…do you think you could…” He swivels his head away dramatically, then says to the floor. “Hand me that hammer. I see something that needs to be…nailed.” He draws out the last words so seductively that I choke on the laugh I’m trying to hold back.

“Of course!” I hold out an imaginary hammer. “We wouldn’t want to leave anything…unnailed.”

I take a deep breath so my chest rises as Zach reaches past the invisible hammer. He runs his fingertips from the inside of my elbow, all the way to my fingers, which he gently uncurls before pretending to take the hammer from me.

And I know it’s all a game, but my pulse doesn’t. It skips so many beats, my heart may stop, while every spot of skin Zach touches rises in temperature.

Zach holds my gaze. We don’t blink. We don’t move. Maybe we’re not playing anymore. I wonder if he felt the same flicker of heat that I did. The heat that’s still radiating from me, slowing my breath, and stopping time.

Then his eyes drop, and he clears his throat. “I think we’ve got it.”

“Totally.” I take a step back to give him the distance he obviously wants. And I smile as I do it, even though it’s killing me to put space between us. “Did you notice my heaving? I think that’s how it’s done in romance novels. Chests heave and pulses quicken.”

Zach laughs. It almost sounds genuine. “Adam would know better than me. He’s the one who reads that stuff.”

I force my own laugh. But then his words register, and I stop. “Wait…what?Adamreads romance books?”

His mouth drops, then slowly slips into a wide grin. “Oh, no. It’s supposed to be a secret.” And now he is laughing. We both are. “I’m not supposed to know, but I figured he’d probably told you.”

I pull in my lips and shake my head.

“You can’t tell him I told you.” He’s still smiling but also pleading.

“Oh, I can’t?” I lift an eyebrow.

“Georr-gia,” he warns and moves closer.

“Zaa-cha-ry.” I take a step back.

“I’m not joking. You can’t tell him.” He looms over me, as intimidating as a big teddy bear, with the grin he can’t hold back.

“Or what are you going to do?” I look up at him through my eyelashes. Maybe a little bit like the women in Adam’s romances. I don’t know.

“You know I know how to torture you.” His mouth quirks to the side.

I take a step back. I’m not smiling anymore. “Donottickle me, Zach.”

He moves closer, and I turn to run but trip over something behind me. My ankle twists, and I don’t even have time to put my hands up before my body meets the floor chest first.

Pain shoots from my ankle up through my calf. I roll over into a sitting position, knees up, and wrap my hands around my ankle.

“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” Zach squats down. The pain isn’t bad enough for me not to notice he’s within kissing distance. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” I draw my eyes away from his lips and stretch out my leg. When I roll my ankle in a circle, pain shoots up the side of my calf. “I’m the klutz who tripped…” I open my eyes to see what I stepped on. “Your shoe! That’s what I fell over? Your giant shoe! Itisyour fault!”

Zach follows my gaze to the tennis shoes he kicked off last night, and his mouth pulls into a guilty frown. “I really am sorry.”

“I’m kidding. I’m sure my ankle is fine, just help me up.” I hold out my hands. Zach takes them both and pulls me up, but as soon as I put weight on my right foot, a sharpness sears from it, through my ankle. I yelp and hop toward the closest kitchen chair.

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