Page 127 of The Vacation Mix-Up
“What time is it?” I flick my wrist and read my watch.
“You have an hour.”
“An hour?” I kick off my comforter. “That’s not long enough to get ready and do my makeup.”
“Eat your breakfast, Riles,” he says, reaching over the bed and snagging my arm, pulling me back down to sit. “You don’t need to paint that pretty face of yours. It’s perfect the way it is.”
I touch my blushing cheeks. “Thank you, but I don’tpaintmy face for the likes of you… or anyone else for that matter.” Which is a lie, because Georgia insists on a full face of makeup in the office, which has become an expensive habit. “Ipaintit for me. Because I like to, and because it makes me feel good.”
He raises his hands. “You can do what you want. All I’m saying is you’re stunning with or without it.”
Unable to suppress my smile, I lift the fork from the plate and stab a piece of bacon. “I know!”
He belly-laughs.
“What?” I ask, frowning.
“Nothing. I like your confidence. It’s sexy.”
A little vexed, I grumble. “Confidence shouldn’t be about sex appeal, Riley. It should be about self-worth and appreciation. If more women uplifted themselves instead of trying to live up to what others subjugate, their world would be a much better place.” I slide the bacon off my fork with my teeth and mumble, “I’m not ‘stunning’ because you think I’m sexy. I’m ‘stunning’ because I know my self-worth.”
“Whatever you say,” he says, booping my nose with the tip of his finger. “Nevertheless, you’re still sexy.”
Swiping his hand away, I scarf my breakfast and almost choke when he walks to the closet and wrenches his boxer shorts down, his delicious bare ass gloriously spotlit by the morning sun streaming in though the balcony window.
A cough bursts from my throat, so I pound my chest with my fist, praying I dislodge the piece of bacon now stuck there.
“You okay?” he asks, leaning back and smirking as he peers out from behind the closet door.
“Yes!” I slam my eyes shut and raise my hand at him. “I’m fine. Stay there.”
“Why? I can perform the Heimlich maneuver if you need me to.”
“No! What I need is for you to get some pants on.”
“What’s wrong? I thought you were an advocate of confidence,” he taunts.
“I am. But there’s confidence, and then there’s—” I swirl my finger, hoping I’m pointing in his direction. “—that.”
Continuing to shade my eyeballs in darkness to protect mywe-take-this-slow approach, my spiraling finger suddenly jabs his rock-hard… chest. I splay my hand.Yes, that’s his chest.
“What are you doing?” I shriek, retracting my hand.
He grabs my wrist and splays my fingers on his abdomen, warmth surging from his skin to my palm, igniting my core. “I’m being confident.”
“Stop it!”
“Open your eyes,” he murmurs, his voice as rough as gravel.
Desperately trying not to peek, I clench my eyelids more firmly together. “No!”
“You won’t regret it.”
I sure as shit will… or won’t. Damn it!A teeny, tiny peek won’t hurt, surely?
Swallowing heavily, I slowly pry one eye open to where he stands before me, shirtless and in a pair of shorts, a grin so roguish the devil would blush.
Frustration sizzles along my cheeks, and I want to stab him with my fork, stab and then take a delectable bite.
