The Sapphire Affair (Jewel #1)(40)
You totally did not fantasize about him last night. You were not thinking of him whatsoever and the way his fingers danced across the outline of your panties on the dance floor.
Another knock.
She smoothed a hand over her dress. She was steel. She could so do this.
She opened the door, and her willpower was ready to wave the white flag. Even in the cheesy palm-tree button-down shirt and touristy hat with the slogan IT’S BETTER IN THE CAYMANS, the man was just too good-looking to be real. Starting with those arms. So firm and strong, they were the image of temptation. She suspected they’d feel good to touch as he moved over her.
There it went—another roller-coaster dive of butterflies inside her.
And that chest. Broad and sturdy. She pictured her hands spread across his pecs.
Then, those eyes. Those see-into-my-soul green eyes that crinkled at the corners.
But most of all, her gaze lingered on his lips. She was already acquainted with their talents. She could only imagine what else they could do.
“Let me just grab the stone,” she said, and started to close the door and leave him in the hallway before she combusted from staring at him.
He stuck his foot in the door. “I’ll join you.”
She waved him off. “That’s OK. I’ll be super fast.”
He flashed her a dirty grin. “I want to prove I can keep my hands to myself. Just like I did last night.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I seem to recall your hands were on me. But by all means, show me your willpower,” she said, opening the door, because now he was testing her resolve and she wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.
“I thought you might enjoy seeing that feat of strength from me,” he said with a wink, reminding her of why she’d liked him so damn much the first night. The man was charming.
And . . . the man also thought her stepfather was a criminal.
“Nice costume,” she said, reminding herself to keep the conversation light between them. To avoid the dicier topics of guilt or innocence, as well as the more dangerous matters of lust.
He gestured to his getup. “I know you’re a big fan of the way I look in Hawaiian shirts.”
“You are definitely one hundred percent pure tourist,” she said, and shut the door behind her, then pointed to the small room. Best to be completely casual and friendly with Jake, nothing more. “It’s not the fanciest hotel on the island, but it’s home sweet home for now,” she joked, as if a hotel room would reveal details of who she was. But it did, in a way. The beige tile floor was littered with her tour supplies—snorkels she’d picked up earlier in the day and mesh bags full of underwater masks, as well as climbing gear. The nightstand boasted a paperback she’d been reading—a true-life adventure of a man who’d hiked across China, as well as her e-reader for when she needed something saucier.
Meanwhile, her assortment of bikinis and clothes was strewn across her bed.
“You could start a bathing suit shop,” he remarked.
“I’m considering buying stock in bikinis.”
“It’s like an explosion. Or maybe they multiplied.”
“I couldn’t decide what to—” Then she stopped and clasped her hand over her mouth. His green gaze shifted from the bed to her.
“What to wear this afternoon?” he supplied, but his tone wasn’t jokey or sarcastic. It was soft and vulnerable. The look in his eyes was, too. As if he wanted her to say yes. The way he gazed at her made her want to say yes to so much more. To whatever he’d ask.
Oh Lord, this was so much tougher than she’d expected.
She nodded and breathed a quiet, “Yes.”
He stepped closer. Raised his hand. Traced an invisible line in the air, inches from her, traveling from her shoulder, along her breasts, down her belly, to her hip. She swallowed and breathed out hard as hot shivers followed his hand. He wasn’t even touching her, but the sensations, the mere possibilities, ignited her.
This was precisely why she didn’t want him in her room.
This was precisely why she wanted him in her room.
She was torn, her body asking for one thing, her mind telling her to just focus on the job because she and Jake were at odds.
“The outfit you chose is perfect,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, and so damn sexy that it nearly sapped all that remaining resistance. Especially when his fingertips brushed against her waist.
Somehow, she uttered a thanks, then made her way to the safe. She began to press the buttons on the lock. In an instant he was behind her, his hand on her hand, his chest against her back. Her mind returned to the flash of images that had played before her closed lids last night in her room as she satisfied that sweet ache he’d left her with on the dance floor. That same damn ache camped out again, beating a pulse in her belly, asking her to move closer to him. There. Right there. So she was aligned with the length of his strong, sturdy body.
He wrapped his fingers over hers.
“What are you doing?” She wasn’t sure if the question was about the safe or his intentions. Though his hard body—hard everywhere she wanted him to be—made it clear his intentions lived in the same vicinity as hers.
He drew a breath, then brushed his lips on her shoulder. She was ready to turn around, grab him, pull him to her bed, and let him strip her to nothing and take her. It had been a long time. So damn long that her body was ready to defect from her brain, which was trying to tell her she didn’t trust men as far as she could throw them and this man was nothing but red flags.