The other beach properties are spaced out enough for the area not to be overlooked and for the first time, I wonder what a guy who can afford a rental like this was doing in Barry’s Bar.
And the more I think about it, the more it puzzles me.
Whether he senses it or not, he pauses on the last step before we hit the beach. “Something wrong?”
My belly clenches at the tension in his voice. His eyes compel me to answer and faint stirrings of panic seize me.
To mitigate it, I respond. Because the quicker he can assuage my curiosity, the quicker we can get to the good stuff.
I blush at my brain’s suggestive images of whatthe good stuffentails—at least for me—and blurt, “I’m just wondering what you were doing at Barry’s Bar. I mean…” I wave a hand holding the glasses at the gorgeous property behind us. “A guy who rents this doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy to spend time at Barry’s.”
Is it my imagination or does wariness flicker in his eyes?
He glances at the house too before catching my gaze, and when I look deeper, there’s nothing suspicious there.
I breathe a little sigh of relief.
“I told you. I’m in real estate. I’m always on the lookout for investments. My interests led me to that side of town,” he says.
On the surface, his answer is adequate enough, maybe even believable. I’m not sure if it’s my own situation and the ingrained suspicion that makes me think it sounds as vague as the “this and that” we joked about inside a few minutes ago.
When he turns and tugs me down the last step onto the beach, I dismiss the tiny misgivings and go with the flow. Which involves watching him turn on the lamps and place them a few feet from where he spreads out the blanket.
He sets the takeout bag down and holds out his hand for the glasses.
Once it’s all set out, he toes off his shoes and glances at me. “You coming?”
Again, I realize I’ve been staring at him like a lovesick teenager.
Which I technically am even though I’m turning twenty a couple of months from now.
I kick off the flats I changed into after taking off the heels Barry insisted I wear for my performance, and drop to my knees on the blanket.
I hear Matt’s sharp inhale and I look up.
He’s two feet away from me, staring down at me with such hot possessiveness, a shiver races up my body.
Yeah, I really didn’t think this one through properly, did I? But…I can’t move from my seriously suggestive position.
Neither does he.
Hell, he looks as frozen as I am.
And this close, I’m at eye level with the impressive—and growing—bulge behind his fly.
My eyes widen and the fierce tingling returns.
With a rough sound that sounds like a muted curse, he steps away and drops down next to me.
The heavenly smells of pasta, sauce and seafood hit me and I’m reminded that I had vending machine tacos for lunch while brisk-walking the two miles from my motel to the bar in time for my two p.m. shift. I haven’t had more than a soda since then.
I’m spellbound by the sight of the linguine with fat shrimp and incredible aromatic tomato sauce.
Matt dishes out far too much food onto one plate and passes it to me.
“Eat.”
It’s a growled command that sends even more tremors through me. I eat because I’m starving. Plus doing something with my mouth stops me from imagining it on his body.