Page 41 of Smooth Sailing
She clicked off the light, and his deep chuckle filled the darkened room. Great, she couldn’t see him, but his scent of cedar and man settled over her. What did that man bathe in, pure temptation?
“Damn it, Max. Do you have to smell amazing too?”
He full-out belly laughed. “Would you like me to fart?”
“Yes.” She twisted on her side, pushing him. Her hand stilled on his muscular chest, memories of her pressed against it and kissing him rushed in. She shoved away the thought and said with forced lightness, “I’m kidding. Please don’t fart.”
He grabbed her hand before she could pull it away, and awareness spread through her like wildfire. Electricity seemed to crackle from the point where their skin met.
“Your hands are so soft.” He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. The tender gesture sent shivers down her spine.
“I use a lot of lotion.” She winced at the dumb reply and at how damn breathless she sounded. But, dammit, she was balancing on a knife’s edge, torn between yanking her hand away and pressing herself against him.
“Are you trying to crush my hand?” he asked, his tone amused.
The change in atmosphere was so sudden that a startled laugh escaped her, and she released his hand. “Oh! Sorry. I was making sure you wouldn’t try to make any moves on me,” she joked.
“I’d never!” he gasped in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I’m a perfect gentleman.”
She needed him to be a gentleman but didn’twanthim to be one.
“Although . . .” He paused dramatically. “I can’t promise I won’t snore.”
She groaned, partly in relief at the broken tension and also in frustration at the lost moment. “I’m not sure that makes up for the gray sweatpants and smelling good.”
“Don’t worry, early tomorrow, I’ll be offering up my impeccable morning breath,” he added helpfully.
“Be still my beating heart,” she deadpanned, then let out a snort of laughter, even as her pulse thrummed with desire.
He chuckled along with her, but there was an undercurrent of something in his voice. “Tell you what,” he said, “if I start snoring, you have my full permission to smother me with a pillow.”
“Tempting,” Paloma mused. She kept her tone light despite the lingering tension. “But then I’d have to explain to the cops why I murdered my business partner. Paperwork would be a bitch.”
“Fair point. How about you give me a good kick instead?”
“That I can do,” she agreed, grinning in the darkness, grateful for the return to their usual banter even as she mourned the loss of their heated moment.
Silence settled around them. She wouldn’t call it comfortable, but it was somehow soothing.
“Hey, Paloma?”
“Yeah?” She held her breath. Would he address the constellation of ‘what-ifs’ twinkling between them?
“Sweetdreams. Try not to fall madly in love with me before morning, okay?”
She grabbed her pillow and smacked him with it, both of them dissolving into laughter that might be a touch too loud, too forced. As their mirth subsided, a confusing mix of relief, disappointment, and anticipation swirled within her, keeping her awake well into the night.
On the other hand, he had rolled to his side and fallen asleep in minutes. He didn’t even have the decency to snore.
In the morning, she woke before the freaking sun with Max and his erection pressing into her ass. She wasn’t a woman known for her impulse control and therefore deserved a damn medal for quietly leaving the bed and settling for a hot cup of coffee instead of the hot man who’d been plastered against her.
She sighed. The sun had nearly risen, painting the sky in soft pinks and golds. Taking a sip of her coffee, she grimaced. It’d gone cold.
“Time for the impossible task of finding a hotel,” she muttered. Setting her mug on the small metal side table, she tapped on her laptop to reawaken it.
“Talking to the seagulls,” Max asked from behind her, making her squeak and nearly drop her computer.
She twisted around, forcing herself to keep her gaze on the throw blanket wrapped around his shoulders and not check if he still had morning wood. “I should kick you,” she joked.
