Page 72 of Enemies in Paradise

“No. The other thing.”

“The squirrels?” He presses his lips together, and I know he’s trying not to smile.

I raise an eyebrow, and his tongue darts between his lips. “You’re freezing. Let’s go inside to talk.”

I shake my head. “The kiss, Bear…kisses.”

His eyes drop to my lips, and he licks his own. “You don’t need to worry. I promise to resist your advances.”

He turns, and I follow him up the stairs he climbs easily despite carrying plastic bags filled with my wet clothes that he packed before we left the studio.

“Excuse me? I think it was the other way around,” I say behind him.

Bear stops at the landing outside the apartment and drops the bags before facing me.

“If that’s how you want to remember it,” he says with a shrug, then leans against the door with his hand on the knob.

“I choose to remember it the way it happened—you kissed me.” My eyes rise to meet his but get caught on his lips until I force them higher.

I’m met with a teasing gaze before Bear opens the door and motions me inside without moving out of the doorway.

“I promise not to tempt you into kissing me again.” His voice is low and raspy as I squeeze past him.

His scent fills my nostrils, releasing an uncontrollable longing. Whatever retort I might have come up with gets scorched in the wildfire spreading through my veins. Without thinking, I brush my fingertips across his stomach.

When I realize what I’ve done, I rush to put space between Bear and me and hurry to the other side of the front room. But there’s no escaping his smell. I’m still engulfed in it, thanks to his jersey.

The air inside is warm and comfortable even before Bear flips a switch, and light floods the room. The light directly above his head pours over him, making him resemble some kind of lumberjack angel with his dark flannel and blonde beard. I turn my back to him, but it’s too late. My brain is already conjuring images of Bear chopping wood.

Shirtless.

Obviously.

Maybe in a kilt.

I try to scrub the image from my mind by focusing on the room in front of me. The pile of wood next to the wood-burning stove doesnothelp.

But his place is nice. Like, really, really nice. So much nicer than I expected.

And strangely familiar.

“Did Georgia decorate this for you?” I walk to the big sectional sofa. There’s a fuzzy blanket thrown over the back of it I can’t wait to wrap up in.

“No, but Zach got tips from her when he furnished it.” He stands by the door, clutching the garbage sacks full of wet clothes. “I moved in a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, yeah. The night I was at your parents’ for dinner.” Back when I still thought he was too young to take seriously.

I scan the large open space. The kitchen counter is a dark stone, but everything else is lighter colors. There are a few popsof orange in pictures and throw pillows. Other than that, the colors are all muted, both masculine and peaceful at the same time.

I’m not one for design, but the entire space has the same feel as the apartment I shared with Georgia that she decorated. It feels more like home than the studio.

The one thing that looks out of place is the large bookcase crammed full of paperbacks. It’s not the same color or style as the rest of the furniture and it’s positioned in a spot that’s too close to the sofa rather than centered on the wall.

I walk to it and run my fingers along the book spines, mostly sports, but a lot of fantasy, too. “Did Zach leave these?”

“Nah. He has dyslexia, so he mostly listens to books. Those are all mine.”

I glance over my shoulder and lift an eyebrow. “You like to read?”

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