Page 27 of Cream Pie

My jaw clenches tight. “Pig.”

Javier rolls his eyes. “Amy—”

“No, you know what?” I snap. “No. I’m over this. Last night happened, whatever. Let’s just go ahead and never fucking speak again, okay?” I hiss out quietly, glaring at him.

A waiter walks past us with more champagne flutes, and with his eyes still locked on mine, Javier calmly places the card on the passing drink tray.

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

Heat blushes through my face, and I rake my teeth over my bottom lip.

“Was that supposed to mean something?”

“Yes.”

I chew on my lip, eyeing him. “And what’s that?”

I gasp quietly as he suddenly moves towards me, not stopping until he’s looming over me, a mere inch or two from touching me. My pulse races, and my breath catches as I look up into his smoky dark eyes.

“It means this.”

Javier’s hand comes up with a different key card that looks exactly like the one for my bungalow, but with a different bungalow number on it.

My heart skips, and my stomach tightens for a moment at what this means. But that jealousy is still there. That petulant little temper at him is still there.

“I’m not that girl,” I mutter.

“I’m not ‘that’ guy,” he growls lowly.

“I’m not coming to your fucking hotel room.”

He grins infuriatingly. “Guess we’ll see.”

“Oh, please,” I sneer. “Says the guy trawling for young girls at dance clubs?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, my money is on you coming to my room,” I purr sweetly, heat rushing through me.

Javier’s brows arch in amusement, but his eyes burn with a dangerous heat as they lock on mine.

“That so?”

“Oh, that’s very so.”

He grins. “Well like I said, guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

“Looks that way,” I croon sarcastically. And then, somehow, I whirl on my heel, and somehow manage to not look back at the gorgeous man who’s invaded every single want and desire and secret fantasy I’ve ever had—the man who’s taken my virginity—as I march away.

And I want him more with every fucking step away from him.

The rest of the night blurs by. I dance with Hope, I have some more champagne, and my eyes seem to find Javier every single time I look up. Except finally, I look up from dancing with Hope, and he’s gone. I last another ten or fifteen minutes, have one more drink with my friend, and then, I call it a night.

I carry my heels back, walking barefoot through the sand and then the smooth-rock walkways of the private bungalow village to my own. Briefly, I wish I’d actually taken Javier’s key card before I chastise myself for being weak. I still wish I’d at least remembered the number…

Back at my own bungalow, I realize I’m freaking starving. I was so caught up with everything, and my speech, that I barely picked at dinner. The room service at a place like this is twenty-four hours a day though, so I call down for seared scallops and some sort of traditional Thai spicy mango salad. The concierge tells me it’s going to be at least thirty minutes, so when I hang up, I pad into the bathroom and start the shower.

I strip down, and my face burns hot as I remember the, uh, mess in my panties. And knowing what it’s from has my shivering in heat as I kick them aside and step under the spray. The hot water tingles over my skin, and instantly, I remember the last shower I took here—with Javier. More importantly, I remember what happened afterwards, and instantly, heat is blazing through me.

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