Page 106 of People We Meet on Vacation

I shrug. “Just long enough to spray myself with adhesive and roll in a vat of glitter.”

“So ten minutes?” he guesses.

I nod, set my curling wand down. “Are you sure you want me to come?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s your brother’s bachelor party,” I say.

“And?”

“And you haven’t seen him in months, and maybe you don’t want me tagging along.”

“You’re not tagging along,” he says. “You’re invited. Also there will probably be male strippers and I know how you love a man in uniform.”

“I was invited byDavid,” I say. “Ifyouwanted alone time with him...”

“There are, like, fifty people coming tonight,” he says. “I’ll be lucky if I makeeye contactwith David.”

“But your other brothers will be there too, right?”

“They’re not coming,” he says. “They’re not even flying out until tomorrow.”

“Okay, but what about all the hot desert broads?” I say.

“Hot desert broads,” he repeats.

“You’re going to be the straight-man belle of the ball.”

His head tilts. “So you want me to go make out with some hot desert broads.”

“Not particularly, but I figure you should know that you still have that option. I mean, just because we...”

His brow crinkles. “What are you doing, Poppy?”

I absently touch my hair. “I was trying for a beehive, but I think I’m going to have to settle for a bouffant.”

“No, I mean...” He trails off. “Do you regret last night?”

“No!” I say, my face going red-hot. “Do you?”

“Not at all,” he says.

I turn to face him head-on instead of through the mirror. “Are you sure? Because you’ve barely looked at me today.”

He laughs, touches my waist. “Because looking at you makes me think about last night, and call me old-fashioned, but I didn’t want to lie by the hotel pool with a raging hard-on all day.”

“Really?” You’d think he just recited a love poem to me by the sound of my voice.

He presses me back onto the edge of the sink as he kisses me once, slow and heavy, his hands circling my neck to find the clasp of the jumpsuit’s halter. It falls loose, and I arch back as he slides the fabric down to my waist. He cups my jaw and draws my mouth back to his, and I wrap my legs around him as our kisses deepen, his free hand moving down my bare chest.

“Do you remember when I was sick?” I whisper against his ear.

His hips grind against mine, and his voice comes out low and husky: “Of course.”

“I wanted you so badly that night,” I admit, untucking his shirt.

“That whole week,” he says, “I kept waking up on the verge of coming. If you hadn’t been sick...”

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