Tight
Page 20
His eyes hardened, and he leaned forward, his elbows settling on the table. “Oh no. I can think of much better adjectives than that.”
“Really?” I widened my eyes dramatically and was momentarily distracted by the key lime pie. Maybe one more bite … no. My stomach was officially full. “Please share.”
“Let’s see.” He looked down, the fingers of his left hand rubbing thoughtfully over his mouth. His knuckles are scarred. I hadn’t noticed that before, the table’s candle flickering over faded thin lines, like he had punched a hundred walls. Such a contrast to the controlled man before me. “You have horrible taste in sensible footwear. Prefer high-pressure sexual advances to gentlemanly overtures. Can order a poor man into bankruptcy. Have questionable judgment when it comes to choosing travel companions.”
I twisted my mouth in an attempt not to smile. “I think those things are bad. The point is to highlight my strengths.”
“Oh no.” He shook his head, leaning back in his seat. “We can’t do that. If we tried to list your attractive qualities, we’d run out of space.”
I laughed, feeling my cheeks heat. I should be better at this. Should probably cross my legs and lean forward, putting my breasts on display. Grin knowingly, like I received swoon-worthy comments every day. Should toss my hair and look natural doing it.
“So how is your online search for true love coming?” He raised his eyebrows with interest.
“Horribly,” I groaned. “Which may be due to the fact that my town’s dating pool is only about a hundred people deep. I think I have to expand the search area.”
“Or close it entirely.”
We weren’t having the ‘exclusive’ talk right then. It was impossible. Too soon. I shrugged. Leaned forward and took another look at the deliciousness that was the key lime pie. Maybe I could have one more bite.
“Looks like a whole lotta deep thought going on over there,” Brett remarked, scribbling his signature on the bill.
“Not really. Just trying to resist temptation.” I looked up and smiled wryly.
“Me too.” The right side of his mouth pulled up, revealing the dimple in his cheek. He really was gorgeous. Heartbreakingly so. “Ready?” He stood and offered his hand.
“Ready.” I took it and stood, his hand linking through mine, our stroll back to the room a leisurely journey. Beside us, the ocean glittered in the moonlight, the crash of waves delicately quiet in the backdrop. I wondered if he’d try something once we got to my room. I was almost woozy from the food, the wine with dinner putting me in a wistful state of calm.
We came to a stop next to the elevator, and he pressed the button. Wrapped his hand around my back and pulled me into his chest. “Your hair smells so good,” he murmured, putting a soft kiss on the top of it.
“Good-smelling hair. Seductive eater … keep going Mr. Jacobs,” I whispered, lifting my chin from his chest to look up at him.
“Oh no. I’m not giving your online dating any more of a boost,” he grumbled, the chime of the elevator breaking our moment.
I laughed and let him pull me inside the lift, his hands pulling me back against him as soon as the doors closed.
“Girl, this better be worth international minutes,” Chelsea, the only one of my friends who could afford international minutes, huffed into the receiver, the drone of the treadmill running on slow in the background.
“It’s really not, but talk to me anyway.”
“What, the sex sucks?”
“Haven’t had any yet.”
“What?” Her screech was so loud I had to pull my cell away from my ear. “It’s been two days!”
“Twenty-nine hours,” I corrected mildly. “And we’re in separate rooms.”
“Why?”
I fished an earring out of my makeup bag, blowing at the front of it in an attempt to remove cotton ball fuzz. “I don’t know. I was nervous on the plane; I think he is trying to be respectful. Not push.”
“You already boned the guy. What more does he want?”
I groaned. Maybe Chelsea was the wrong person to call. “Last night we got trashed. He brought me to my room and tucked me in.”
“And today?”
I glanced at the clock. “Flowers were delivered this morning, along with a note for me to call him when I woke up.”
“So call him.”
“I just want to know what this is. What I’m getting into.”
“Holy cheese balls. Just fuck the guy. Dance on the beach. Have fun for the first time ever. It all doesn’t have to be a five-year plan with an amortization schedule.”
I blinked. Not to be offensive, but I didn’t even realize Chelsea knew what an amortization schedule was. But she had a point. I was approaching middle age. Single. On an island with a man whose mere touch made me shiver. I should be riding him like a prized stallion.
“You’re right. Let me run.” I hung up the phone and fell back on the bed. Rolled over different scenarios in my mind with the aggression of an eighty-year-old woman. Did I have the balls to seduce? Make a move? Or should I just wait until tonight? I stood and walked over to his flowers. A beautiful arrangement. One that would be wasted, our departure a scant twenty-four hours away. Twenty-four hours left in paradise. And I was sitting alone in the room when I could be repeating last weekend’s orgasmic glory. What was I doing? At the very least I should follow his request and call. Let him know I was awake. Or … I could follow Chelsea’s directive. Jumping into his bed seemed like a lot more fun. A lot more daring. A lot more like the woman I’d like to one day become.
“Really?” I widened my eyes dramatically and was momentarily distracted by the key lime pie. Maybe one more bite … no. My stomach was officially full. “Please share.”
“Let’s see.” He looked down, the fingers of his left hand rubbing thoughtfully over his mouth. His knuckles are scarred. I hadn’t noticed that before, the table’s candle flickering over faded thin lines, like he had punched a hundred walls. Such a contrast to the controlled man before me. “You have horrible taste in sensible footwear. Prefer high-pressure sexual advances to gentlemanly overtures. Can order a poor man into bankruptcy. Have questionable judgment when it comes to choosing travel companions.”
I twisted my mouth in an attempt not to smile. “I think those things are bad. The point is to highlight my strengths.”
“Oh no.” He shook his head, leaning back in his seat. “We can’t do that. If we tried to list your attractive qualities, we’d run out of space.”
I laughed, feeling my cheeks heat. I should be better at this. Should probably cross my legs and lean forward, putting my breasts on display. Grin knowingly, like I received swoon-worthy comments every day. Should toss my hair and look natural doing it.
“So how is your online search for true love coming?” He raised his eyebrows with interest.
“Horribly,” I groaned. “Which may be due to the fact that my town’s dating pool is only about a hundred people deep. I think I have to expand the search area.”
“Or close it entirely.”
We weren’t having the ‘exclusive’ talk right then. It was impossible. Too soon. I shrugged. Leaned forward and took another look at the deliciousness that was the key lime pie. Maybe I could have one more bite.
“Looks like a whole lotta deep thought going on over there,” Brett remarked, scribbling his signature on the bill.
“Not really. Just trying to resist temptation.” I looked up and smiled wryly.
“Me too.” The right side of his mouth pulled up, revealing the dimple in his cheek. He really was gorgeous. Heartbreakingly so. “Ready?” He stood and offered his hand.
“Ready.” I took it and stood, his hand linking through mine, our stroll back to the room a leisurely journey. Beside us, the ocean glittered in the moonlight, the crash of waves delicately quiet in the backdrop. I wondered if he’d try something once we got to my room. I was almost woozy from the food, the wine with dinner putting me in a wistful state of calm.
We came to a stop next to the elevator, and he pressed the button. Wrapped his hand around my back and pulled me into his chest. “Your hair smells so good,” he murmured, putting a soft kiss on the top of it.
“Good-smelling hair. Seductive eater … keep going Mr. Jacobs,” I whispered, lifting my chin from his chest to look up at him.
“Oh no. I’m not giving your online dating any more of a boost,” he grumbled, the chime of the elevator breaking our moment.
I laughed and let him pull me inside the lift, his hands pulling me back against him as soon as the doors closed.
“Girl, this better be worth international minutes,” Chelsea, the only one of my friends who could afford international minutes, huffed into the receiver, the drone of the treadmill running on slow in the background.
“It’s really not, but talk to me anyway.”
“What, the sex sucks?”
“Haven’t had any yet.”
“What?” Her screech was so loud I had to pull my cell away from my ear. “It’s been two days!”
“Twenty-nine hours,” I corrected mildly. “And we’re in separate rooms.”
“Why?”
I fished an earring out of my makeup bag, blowing at the front of it in an attempt to remove cotton ball fuzz. “I don’t know. I was nervous on the plane; I think he is trying to be respectful. Not push.”
“You already boned the guy. What more does he want?”
I groaned. Maybe Chelsea was the wrong person to call. “Last night we got trashed. He brought me to my room and tucked me in.”
“And today?”
I glanced at the clock. “Flowers were delivered this morning, along with a note for me to call him when I woke up.”
“So call him.”
“I just want to know what this is. What I’m getting into.”
“Holy cheese balls. Just fuck the guy. Dance on the beach. Have fun for the first time ever. It all doesn’t have to be a five-year plan with an amortization schedule.”
I blinked. Not to be offensive, but I didn’t even realize Chelsea knew what an amortization schedule was. But she had a point. I was approaching middle age. Single. On an island with a man whose mere touch made me shiver. I should be riding him like a prized stallion.
“You’re right. Let me run.” I hung up the phone and fell back on the bed. Rolled over different scenarios in my mind with the aggression of an eighty-year-old woman. Did I have the balls to seduce? Make a move? Or should I just wait until tonight? I stood and walked over to his flowers. A beautiful arrangement. One that would be wasted, our departure a scant twenty-four hours away. Twenty-four hours left in paradise. And I was sitting alone in the room when I could be repeating last weekend’s orgasmic glory. What was I doing? At the very least I should follow his request and call. Let him know I was awake. Or … I could follow Chelsea’s directive. Jumping into his bed seemed like a lot more fun. A lot more daring. A lot more like the woman I’d like to one day become.
