* * *
The beachfront bungalowis gorgeous in that postcard meets mosquito ambush kind of way.
Tucked between palm trees and ocean views, it screams tropical charm, complete with gauzy curtains billowing dramatically and a suspiciously perfect fruit basket on the table.
Ceiling fans spin overhead. A massive bed dominates the space.
And on the patio, a private hot tub glistens like sin waiting to happen.
Connor kicks the door shut behind us, already pulling off his shirt.
His abs catch the light like a personal attack.
“Forget the heat,” he says, stalking toward me with dangerous intent. “I’m about to give you something else to sweat about.”
My breath catches. “You’re insufferable.”
He smirks, backing me toward the bed. “And you are completely at my mercy.”
Heat flares low in my belly. I don’t know if it’s the tropical air or the way his eyes devour me like I’m dessert.
He presses a slow, devastating kiss to the side of my throat, right over my hammering pulse.
“Let me overheat you properly, baby.”
62
CONNOR
Ihook a finger under the strap of her sundress, tugging it slowly down her flushed shoulder, letting it slip like a secret against her skin.
She swallows hard as I reach behind her and unzip it with cruel, deliberate precision.
“Connor,” she warns, but her voice is breathy and weak.
She’s already unraveling, and I haven’t gotten started.
The heat coils between us, thick and suffocating, stealing the air from the room.
Her dress falls to the floor in a silent pool of fabric, leaving her in a pair of lace panties that were clearly not designed for survival in this bungalow.
She’s slick with sweat.
With want.
With need.
I grip her hips and pull her flush against me. “Still too hot?”
She glares. “Shut up.”
I grin, brushing my lips over her collarbone, tasting her. She tastes like salt and temptation.
“Say it, baby.”
She releases a shuddery breath, then flashes that wicked grin. “Not hot.”
“Liar,” I growl against her throat and lift her, tossing her onto the bed.