Four Day Fling(44)

I covered my mouth, biting back a laugh, looking away.

Adam hooked a finger beneath my chin and tilted it back up. “You have a smarter mouth than anyone I’ve ever met, and I’m fucked if I know why that’s so attractive to me, but there you go.” He trailed his finger along my cheek and pushed hair from my eyes. “That’s just a couple things I like about you, Poppy. If you were worried I wasn’t into you, then don’t be. And if you were worried that I was, then tough shit.”

I laughed, leaning against him and resting my head against his chest. He was laughing too, and for a moment, that was all there was.

Me and a guy who was into me, cuddled on a balcony, laughing.

And a part of me really wished this didn’t have to be fake. But it was one thing to feel comfortable in a private setting—a public one was something else altogether.

And that was ultimately why we really did only have four days.

Adam tucked his hand under my chin again and lifted it. This time, it wasn’t his eyes that found mine. It was our lips, coming together in a kiss that I felt from head to toe.

I wanted it to go on forever.

“Come on. Bedtime.” Releasing me, he motioned for me to get up first.

I did, using his thigh for leverage. He “umphed,” and I snorted. “That’s what you get for picking me up on a balcony made for toddlers and putting the fear of God into me.”

“Fear of God? Don’t you mean the fear of your mother?”

“I told you not to confuse Satan and God. Satan doesn’t like it.” I flashed him a grin over my shoulder as I left him to lock the doors.

I walked into the bathroom and grabbed my makeup wipes. By the time Adam joined me in there, I was makeup free and struggling to bend my arm behind me to undo my zip.

He leaned against the doorframe, eyes skirting over me. “What are you doing?”

I stopped hopping. “A performance for leprechauns.”

He looked around. “You don’t seem to have much of an audience.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” I dropped my arm before I dislocated my shoulder. “I can’t reach my zip. Can you help?”

“Can I help you undress? Oh, shit, what a hard decision,” he replied dryly, walking over to me. Gently, he turned me around to face the mirror once more and swept my hair to one side.

His fingers brushed over the small area of bare skin at the top of my back as he grabbed the zip. Slowly, carefully, he pulled it down. Shivers followed the trial of the zip as it lowered and finally stopped just above the curve of my ass.

Adam lifted his gaze to meet mine in the reflection of the mirror. “Done.”

“Thank you.” It came out a little scratchier than I’d intended, and I quickly darted away into the bedroom. His low chuckle followed me, so I shut myself in the walk-in closet.

It was pitch black. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, and for a second, that was a good thing. It allowed me to lean back against the wall and catch a breath.

My heart was pounding crazy fast. I could be running from a murderer and it couldn’t beat any faster. My mouth was dry, and I couldn’t put into a box what had just happened.

All I knew was that it was something very real, and I needed to stop it before my hare-brained heart got any stupid ideas about keeping in contact with Adam after this wedding was done.

The door opened, and I winced at the bright light from the bedroom.

“Red? What are you doing?”

He was asking me that a lot tonight.

Losing my mind? That was a good answer.

“I was looking for a tank top,” I replied dumbly. “To sleep in.”

He reached inside the door and flicked on the light. “That’ll be a lot easier with the light on.”

I nodded.

He smirked. “I have nieces who can lie better than you. They’re three.”

“Fuck off,” I muttered, yanking open the drawer that held my clothes. I pulled out a baggy top I liked to sleep in that said, “If you can read this, fuck off” and stepped out of my dress. Quickly removing my bra, I tugged the shirt over my head and went back into the bedroom, turning off the closet light.

Adam had already turned off the main light and had the one on the nightstand turned on. As I climbed onto my side of the bed, he reached behind him and turned it off.

He pulled me against him so we were spooning. His breath fluttered my hair, and his fingers splayed across my stomach beneath my shirt. Our legs tangled, and it was fucking horrible.

“I hate being touched when I sleep,” I grumbled.

“I know. But I’m sure you can manage two more nights.” He yawned, wriggling even closer.

“You didn’t read my shirt, did you?”

“No. But judging by your mood, it’s telling me to fuck off.”

I snorted because he was right. “Exactly.”

“My shirt says I don’t give a shit what yours says.”

“You’re not wearing a shirt.”

“I know. Aren’t you lucky? You can feel these abs all day long.”

I rolled my eyes as he stifled his own laughter behind me. “Wow. Someone thinks he’s funny.”

“Someone’s in a mood.”

“You’re touching me. I want to sleep. This is like torture.”