“I’m going to check out the bathroom,” Arthur announced, as decisive as I typically was. After dropping his bag on one of the chairs, he opened a door, which turned out to be a postage-stamp-sized closet.
“Not exactly promising,” I muttered. “Not enough space there either.”
“You’re not sleeping in the closet.” Arthur opened the only other door, which led to a surprisingly spacious bathroom with an old-fashioned slipper-shaped tub complete with claw feet taking up all of one wall. “Damn. That thing is huge. Maybe I can just sleep there.”
“You’re not sleeping in the tub.” I could be firm too.
“Why not? Just give me a pillow and a blanket. It wouldn’t be the worst thing. Hell, we could both fit in there.” Arthur grinned while I had had to grit my teeth over the parade of images of us sharing that tub, all squished together, soapy and slippery and—
Snap out of it, Fox.
“No one is sleeping in the tub.” I glared at him because I hated that he’d provided fuel for my next six months of fantasies. And underscored the fact that we couldn’t share space this small without something spontaneously combusting. “What if we told—”
“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Arthur held up a hand. “If we come clean, you’ll be fine. Mom loves you. You’ll bunk with Calder and his friends or keep this cabin. But me? I’ll be in the doghouse for lying and I’ll be stuck on nephew-wrangling duty for the next decade.”
“I see your dilemma.” I scrubbed at my hair, seeking an out. I didn’t want Arthur in hot water with his family, but that one small bed loomed large as we both turned back into the room. “We could fake a fight. You could blame me for the argument and kick me out to sleep with Calder’s crew.”
“And spend all week with everyone trying to get us to make up?” Groaning, Arthur paced away from me. Eight paces and he was across the cabin and needed to spin on his heel to avoid hitting the window. “Dude. You don’t understand the risk of a spontaneous flash-mob musical number with these people. You’ll have apology suggestions by the dozens.”
Fuck. More public humiliation. No thank you. No audiences. “Hmm. Meddling relatives or risking singeing my hair in the fireplace. Choices.”
“We’re adults.” Arthur came back to stand directly in front of me. “We can share a bed without having sex. Hell, half of that bed is probably still bigger than a sub bunk.”
“Yeah.” My voice was weak and soft as damp tissue paper. All he’d had to do was mention sex and that bed, and my brain was only too happy to gallop ahead, replacing lewd thoughts about that tub with images of us rolling around on the bed, messing up the pristine white bedding.
“Or we could just have sex.” He poked me in the chest, and the glancing pressure felt like a torch, spreading warmth and light all through my torso, making me more than a little light-headed.
“What?” I gulped. No way did he just say that.
“It’s on the table,” he said as patiently as if we were discussing dinner entree options. “We’re both consenting single adults, and everyone will think we’re doing it anyway.”
Damn logic. He wasn’t wrong. But no way could we go there. “It is not on the table.”
“Suit yourself.” Shrugging, Arthur stalked over to the bed and flopped into the center. “It would probably be anticlimactic anyway.”
“How do you figure that?” Agreeing would have been smarter, but my ego did not care for how easily he assumed that sex between us would be bad or not worth the hassle.
“A kiss that good...mmm.” Sighing dreamily, Arthur made a noise that was probably illegal in three states. “No way would the sex live up to it.”
“It most certainly...” My own resistance had nothing to do with worry over it being mediocre and everything to do with concern over it being far, far too good. “Wait. You are not goading me into sex just to prove that it wouldn’t be a disaster.”
“Admit you’re tempted.” Giving me the most mischievous of grins, he patted the bed next to him.
My feet flexed inside my shoes, and I had to fist my hands to keep from shuffling forward.
I was tempted.
I really was.
“Dinner!” A yell sounded from outside before a gong rang.
“They have a literal dinner bell?” I laughed because the alternative was to weep from how damn close I’d come to joining Arthur on the bed and how pissed I was at the interruption when I should be grateful.
“Yup.” Arthur sat up. “Let’s deal with the sleeping arrangements later, okay?”
That was the worst idea ever. Dinner would be the perfect time to try to work out something less likely to destroy my willpower. But instead, all I said was, “All right.”