Page 21 of Renegade Roomie

“Right.” I nod. Hand-holding. That seems innocent enough.

“Plus, we should toss in a few affectionate gestures, like this,” he reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, a gesture that has no business feeling erotic but somehow does, “or this.” He smiles into my eyes and trails his knuckles down my cheek, and dear god, I’m starting to believe the less dangerous move here is hunting down a parachute and skydiving right off the plane.

I clear my throat. “And what about… Kissing?”

Dash gives a wry grin. “I’m in favor.”

“I’m serious.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, the normal amount? I mean, I wouldn’t be making out in front of my grandmother even if this was a real thing, so… A quick peck on the mouth should be fine. Besides, Zelda thinks some things should be kept in private.”

My fervent prayers of thanks to his grandmother’s sense of propriety die when he adds, “… Unless, of course, we’re somewhere with a reasonable expectation of privacy and we know she’s going to stumble across us. Then she’d probably think it was weird if we weren’t tearing each other’s clothes off.”

I cough. Mental note: Do not, I repeat—do not—go anywhere alone with Dash over the entire weekend. Ever. Surely I can manage that.

“Right?”

A terrible-slash-wonderful thought strikes me. “You don’t think we’ll have to share a room, do you?”

I’ve read way too many romance books starring only one bed to sleepwalk into this one. But Dash shakes his head. “Zelda’s old-school,” he assures me. “Which is why she thinks my sister hasn’t so much as held hands with a boy.”

“Your younger sister, Piper,” I repeat. “What’s she like?”

He shrugs. “Annoying, know-it-all, terrible taste in music,” he says, but there’s an affectionate smile on his face. “She’s finishing up an MBA, then I’m sure she’ll find a way to rule the world.”

“Will she be there this weekend?” I ask.

“I hope not.” Dash grins. “Otherwise we’re in for a world of trouble.”

I look at him for a moment, trying to imagine him as a big brother. I’ve only thought of Dash as an annoying playboy type before this trip, but now, I realize, there’s more to him than that.

“What?” he asks, glancing over and meeting my gaze. I’m caught for a moment in the pools of clear blue. The curious look in his eyes. The way a lock of hair is falling over them, just begging to be brushed aside…

“Nothing!” I blurt. I yank my headphones out of my purse and slide them over my ears, cranking up my music, but no song is loud enough to drown out the question circling in my mind.

What have I gotten myself into?

* * *

With my book and my headphones as armor, the rest of the flight passes uneventfully. Although I do catch Dash flirting with every single person in a skirt who happens along the aisle. None of them seem immune to his charms, not even the eighty-something woman who leans on her cane and blushes like a schoolgirl when subjected to the full wattage of Dash’s grin.

No wonder Zelda thinks he’s a lost cause. This guy flirts as naturally as breathing.

Once we arrive in Palm Beach and collect our luggage off the carousel, we grab a cab to his grandmother’s place. Even though my nerves are still tangled up in knots, wondering how this whole thing is going to play out, I can help the excitement that comes from being on an actual vacation.

And talk about a trip to paradise. The scenery streaks by in a blur of palm trees, the ocean glittering turquoise from every angle. The sky is clear blue, and with the windows down and breeze rustling in my hair, I can feel the sunshine warm me from the inside out.

I sigh in bliss. Dash looks over, one eyebrow raised. “I haven’t had a vacation in… Forever,” I smile. “But let me guess, you were in St. Barts just the other week?”

“Tulum, actually,” he grins. “But you’re right, there’s no place like home.”

Eventually, we cross a short bridge and turn onto what appears to be a little peninsula, lined with exclusive looking gates, and huge mansions peeping through the foliage.

I pause. “Umm, Dash?” I ask, clocking the surroundings. The further we drive, the bigger the gates become, until it feels like we took a turn into an episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Wildly Extravagant. I mean, I knew Dash’s family was loaded—that whole ‘trust fund’ part gave it away—but this?

This is something else.

“What?” he asks, before leaning forward. “Take a left here,” he tells the driver, who turns off the main street and down a long, lush driveway.

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