Page 79 of Regards, Mia

Ten minutes turns into twenty, and I am nearly late when I rush out the door.

“The zip lining adventure starts at noon.”

Jay is sitting up in bed, reading the book I left on the nightstand. He drags his gaze up from the book, his brows drawing together. “The fuck it does.”

“You said you didn’t care what I picked for your activity,” I say, grabbing my bag and checking to make sure I have everything. “So, I picked zip lining across the island.”

Jay barks out a laugh. “You won’t catch me dangling from a rope over a mountain range. Not in this lifetime.”

A teasing smile curves my lips. “You’re not afraid, are you?”

“Hell, yeah, I’m afraid.” His shiver of displeasure is definitely not fake. “I can’t stand heights.”

“The Savageis scared of heights?”

“Howabout working on my tan at the beach?” He flips a page in my book, a historical romance set on the high seas. “I might take this book with me. It’s not half bad. For porn.”

I check my lipstick in the mirror. “It’s not porn. It's a historical romance.”

“Hmm.” He flips back a few pages and reads out loud, “‘Julian got on his knees and pressed his tongue to Liza’s most treasured pearl of passion—’” He lifts his gaze to mine. “What do you think a treasured pearl of passion is?”

My stomach clenches at the thought of Jay on the beach, in all his tattooed glory. What if my mom sees his prison tattoo? I’ll never hear the end of it.

“If you go to the beach, make sure you keep your shirt on,” I say. “Like we emailed about.”

He puts the book down on the nightstand. “I thought you were kidding.”

An awkward silence fills the room. We stare at each other through the thickening tension. “I wasn’t kidding.”

“It might be hard to get a tan with a shirt on.”

“There’s always zip lining.”

With narrowed eyes, Jay gets up from the bed and walks toward me. He’s wearing briefs and nothing else. The long muscles in his thighs ripple and flex as he strides across the room with effortless grace. His hair is loose around his shoulders, slightly disheveled from my fingers, and his eyes are darker than melted chocolate.

“What are you afraid of?” he asks, stopping inches from me. “Your family seeing my tattoos?”

A flush spreads up my chest. I know I look like a real bitch, but I can’t lie. “Yes.”

He looks down at his delectable chest, covered in designs. “They’ve probably seen tattoos before.”

“Probably, but not on one of my boyfriends.”

“Accountants and bankers have tattoos,” he says.

I glance down midway on his right arm, and hestiffens.

“You don’t want your family to know you’re dating an ex-con?”

Jay knows the answer, but still he waits with infinite patience for my response.

“It’s Max and Samantha’s day,” I say, changing the subject.

Jay’s dark eyes narrow on me. “You’re ashamed of me.”

My jaw clenches, and I grind my teeth. “It’s not that.”

Jay shoves a lock of hair behind his ear. “Good thing I’m not your real boyfriend.”

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