Page 47 of Sharing Shane

He put a little more boom in his voice and hit the hammock harder. “Veronica.”

Her eyes shot open so fast he nearly took a step back. Immediately, she slapped a hand to her head, the other reaching out to grab the side of the hammock. “Oh God, make it stop moving.”

Taking her literally, he reached out and wrapped a hand around the webbing, pulling the swaying hammock to a halt.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and the heartfelt relief in it almost made him smile.

Then he remembered he was irritated with her, so he grunted instead. “Hungover?”

“No,” she mumbled and gave a jaw-cracking yawn. “I just get motion sick easily.”

“What are you doing out here?”

She blinked up at him, looking befuddled. The hammock pattern was pressed into her right cheek. “Huh?”

“What are you doing out here?” he repeated gruffly.

“Um. Sleeping.”

He scowled. “You slept out here? All night?”

“I guess so.” She shoved her hair out of her face and looked around. “What time is it?”

“Nine-thirty,” he said. “What do you mean, you guess so?”

“Wow, I was out.” She looked up at him. “Can you help me out of this thing?”

He didn’t want to touch her—it was hard enough to resist her sleepy sexiness without adding touching to the mix. But she looked like she’d fall on her ass if he left her to her own devices, and while he was willing to be an asshole if he had to, he couldn’t bring himself to be that much of an asshole. So he held out a hand, waited for her to grab on, and hauled her up.

She came flying out of the hammock and crashed into him.

He staggered back a step but kept his feet, and mostly because he didn’t know what else to do, scowled at the woman he now held in his arms. “You okay?”

Her eyes were wide as saucers, her lips parted in surprise. He could see the flecks of green and gold in her eyes, the thickness of her lashes. Her cheeks were pink and getting pinker, her mouth a lush temptation a saint would struggle to resist. The rat’s nest hair and the traces of makeup crusted in the corners of her eyes should’ve made her less appealing, but to his annoyance, they didn’t. Not even the distinct whiff of morning breath coming from that fuck-me mouth was enough to put him off.

“I’m fine,” she said in a husky rasp. Her lashes fluttered down to shield her eyes, and she stepped away.

He resisted the urge to haul her back. “Come inside. I’ll make coffee.”

He turned to stomp across the patio without waiting to see if she followed, and was pouring water into the coffee maker when she came in.

She stepped through the door, the knitted throw draped over her shoulders like a cape. She still looked befuddled, like she hadn’t quite woken up yet. She tossed the throw onto the sofa, the strap of her dress sliding down her arm to reveal the curve of one generous breast. Cursing under his breath, he focused on the coffee maker.

“You don’t have to do that,” she told him, her voice hesitant, and he made an effort to relax his shoulders and take the grumpy motherfucker out of his tone.

“Not a problem,” he said with a glance over his shoulder. She’d pulled the strap of her dress back in place, and he felt a purely selfish pang of disappointment. But at least he could look at her without wanting to fall on her like a rabid dog. Much.

“This’ll take a minute,” he told her. “You want food?”

Her brow furrowed. “We have food?”

“Fruit,” he said, jerking his head toward the bowl on the counter. “Or room service.”

“I’m good with fruit.” She cleared her throat. “I’m going to shower and try to wake up.”

He shrugged and tried to act like he had no intention of imagining her naked. “Coffee will be here when you get out.”

He busied himself slicing fruit while the shower ran, hacking into the apples and pears with more enthusiasm than finesse. By the time he got to the bananas and mango, the water had shut off, and a few minutes later she emerged from the bathroom.

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