Despite his insistence on an early start time that morning—“You already made me wait until Wednesday, Wren, which is essentially next year”—he’d had them sit down for one of Dina’s delicious, huge breakfasts before they departed. Because, he claimed, Lauren owed him the consumption of croissant-based French toast stuffed with a heavenly cream cheese–strawberry mixture, since he’d defended her.
Then he’d confessed that he hadn’t packed yet, and insisted on modeling way-too-flattering outfit possibilities for her and parading around shirtless as he changed, and …
Well, they’d gotten a late start. But as he’d pointed out, this was meant to be a vacation, and they had plenty of time and nowhere in particular to be before Saturday.
It was wonderful, frankly. All of it.
The travel plans. The uninterrupted time to talk. The lack of divided loyalties. The car.
The shirtlessness.
“I’m going to have a great time? That’s odd.” She angled herself toward him. “I seem to recall a brand-new bumper sticker on your very expensive car reading—and I quote—NO FUN. In all caps. I assume it was purchased for this trip?”
The sight of it had stopped her dead in her tracks that morning, as she’d approached the mini-castle. Alex had pulled his car up just outside the front door, and she couldn’t miss the decorative addition. Not with its bright red letters against a stark white background. And yes, the car itself was that same shade of cherry red, but the sedan was also sleek and pristine and entirely unsuited to smartass bumper stickers.
Upon second thought, maybe the combination of car and sticker was perfect for Alex. Slick lines and gorgeousness leavened by a healthy dose of the ridiculous.
“The bumper sticker’s an homage,” he declared loftily, his attention on the road, his eyes hidden by his stylish sunglasses. “A nod to our past as Nanny Clegg and her irascible yet irresistible charge.”
“I see,” she said dryly. “I didn’t realize it was an act of historical commemoration. My mistake.”
The sun blazed overhead, and the car’s air-conditioning battled valiantly against the July heat. The rolling hills surrounding them were parched and golden, with patches of green from brush, and she couldn’t wait to get even closer to the water and the ocean breeze. But to be perfectly honest, she’d barely managed to glance outside the passenger window so far. Because Alex might be aggravating, but he was also right: He was irresistible.
He’d modeled countless outfits for her, all of them glorious on him. But in deference to the temperature, he’d chosen to wear a plain white tee today. Or at least, it would have been plain on almost anyone else. On him, it was an artful garnish on a perfectly plated dessert.
Oh, heavens, it was tight. It strained against his biceps and lovingly clung to his broad shoulders, and its immaculate whiteness made his skin glow golden in the sun.
The snug fit of his faded jeans showcased the shifting muscles of his strong thighs as he braked and accelerated over and over, the rhythm hypnotizing. And between those thighs—
No, she wouldn’t look there. Not again.
Truly, her current preoccupation with his lean, strong body was his fault entirely, and it had started even before the half-naked fashion show. As soon as he’d spotted her standing on his circular drive that morning, he’d come bounding out of the mini-castle, his face creased in a huge, beaming smile, and stridden directly to her.
He hadn’t stopped a discreet foot or two away or waved from a distance. Oh, no.
Instead, he’d moved close and punctured the generous, invisible bubble of space that usually surrounded her and opened his arms wide, and what could she do then, really? What else could she do but walk forward into those arms, into his all-encompassing embrace?
He’d bent low to rest his cheek against her hair, and he’d murmured, Finally, you exasperating shrew, finally, and he’d wrapped around her like—
Like the blanket he’d given her, maybe. Warm and luxurious. More beautiful than anything she’d ever hoped to have or even dared to want.
But she did want him. And she’d had him for endless seconds on that driveway, maybe even a minute or two, because he hadn’t given her a quick squeeze and let her go. No, he’d held on tightly, and she hadn’t moved away either.
As they’d stood embracing one another, the warmth of his skin soaked through his clothing and heated to scorching against her fingertips on his back, her arms around his waist, her cheek on his chest. His jeans rubbed against the smooth fabric of her leggings, and the friction rippled through her until she swelled and ached between her thighs. Despite the barrier of her cotton bra and T-shirt, she was very much afraid he could feel her nipples harden against his stomach, and if she didn’t know better—