And I still have four days left of this vacation!
“There.” I pat his massive shoulder. “You have your book. Time to go.”
“Book?” he rasps.
“The guest book.” This is the best day of my life. “The one you’re holding.”
“Right.”
“You might be interested to know that prior to the group of girls who stayed there last week, no one had rented the house since last summer.” Using the edge of the bed for balance, I climb to my feet. “Because Oscar himself had been living there for a full ten months.”
“That so?” the bounty hunter murmurs. He is staring at my belly button like it’s the one speaking. I could pretend I don’t like his attention on me, but I think that ship is leaving port at full speed. I found him attractive before, despite his wildly rude personality. Now, in the setting of the bedroom, having given him very personal details about my sexual longings, intimacy builds between us. Potent. Visceral. And I can’t help it, there’s no way to stop my body from responding to him. Because this man is definitely not the one I’m searching for to settle down with. But I bet he’d give me that elusive physical excitement I can’t seem to track down for the life of me. Or at least come close? I’m starting to think animal attraction, paired with actual love and respect, only exists in scripted movies and romance novels.
His gaze travels down and lingers on the zipper of my shorts, inching lower to the apex of my thighs. He wets his lips. The air in my lungs evaporates. Oh God, what’s going to happen? Nothing. Nothing can happen. Right? It’s daytime and my brother is downstairs.
Apparently I’m the only one making a mental pro/con list, because the bounty hunter reaches out and grips the waistband of my shorts, the heat of his touch searing my hips, and he drags me forward. Fast enough to make me stumble a little. His hot breath curls in my belly button and I reach for his hair, tangling it around my fingers, exhilaration pouring through me like a mile-high waterfall. And then he licks me. He licks across my exposed belly from one hip to the other. Then bites down on my abductor. Hard enough to make me gasp.
“I’m Myles,” he says hoarsely. “That’s my name.”
“Myles,” I whisper, my knees seconds from giving out.
“Taylor,” calls Jude from downstairs, beginning to sound alarmed. “You good up there?”
“C-coconuts,” I try to say, but it comes out sounding like gibberish—and that gives the bounty hunter pause. With a rocky sigh, he rises to his full height and looks down at me through narrowed eyes. He takes my chin in his hand and tilts it up, scrutinizing every inch of my face. “You might feel unsatisfied after being treated with kid gloves. But…at least there was affection there. I don’t have any of that in me. None. Trust me, you’d feel a lot worse after us sleeping together. Being respected is better than empty sex. That’s what I’d give you.”
“Maybe that’s what I want.”
His pupils dilate a touch more and he steps closer, eyelids drifting down, his fingers sliding up into my hair and gently fisting my hair. “And goddamn, I’d like to provide it. That mattress would never be the same if you put on those red panties for me. But it’s the worst idea I’ve had in years, and believe me, half pint, that’s saying something.” With a visible effort, he drops his hand from my hair and backs away, dragging a shaking hand down his open mouth. “Stay out of trouble, Taylor. I mean it.”
Does that mean he’s not coming back?
I nod absently, trying to hide my immense disappointment that he’s no longer touching me. My body is hot and exposed and I’m twisted up in knots in the most intimate of places. And he’s leaving. My brain tells me there is no other choice. He’s right. I can’t just have a fling with a bounty hunter. A mean one who looks—and acts—like he just escaped hell, no less. Maybe I’m overestimating my ability to have a wild fling? Maybe I’m just on a high from this new courageous behavior, but I’m not actually built for meaningless sex?
“The neighbor won’t bother you again. Sing Kelly Clarkson as loud as you want.” He looks like he feels stupid for saying that, cursing under his breath and wheeling around on a booted heel to leave the room. A moment later, the door slams downstairs. Without thinking, I cross to the window and look down, watching Myles climb onto his bike—a Harley Davidson, I notice now—and strap a helmet on. He looks up at me and kicks the engine to life, and God help me, I have to cross my legs, the ensuing clench of my sex is so intense and prolonged.