“Public?”Ifling my arms wide and swing them around. “Thenearest person is probablyfive miles away.”
“Imean outdoors.I’mnot peeing outdoors.Orin front of you.”
“I’dturn my back.”
“Orbehind you.”
Somuch for my attempt at romantic champagne on the beach.Itilt my head and sigh. “Dowe need to go back to the house?”
“Doesit have somewhere to pee that has walls and a ceiling, that isn’t covered in rocks, and that has a flush function?”
“Itdoes.”
“Thenyes, please.”
22
POLLY
Ifit were possible to walk with my legs crossedIwould.Finally, as we reach the end of the wooded path across the island, the trees clear to reveal a beautiful shingled house.Adeck leads up to openFrenchdoors with long white muslin curtains billowing out of them.
“Let’sgo in this way.It’llget you to a bathroom quicker.”
Hesweeps back one of the curtains and guides me in ahead of him.Hishand in the small of my back sends tingles up my spine.
Thetingles radiate across my whole body whenIrealize we’re walking into the most spectacular bedroomIhave ever seen.Myhands fly to my mouth asIgasp at the sight of something out of the pages of a design magazine.
It’shuge, with whitewashed wood floors, white walls, and a vaulted wooden ceiling.There’sa cream chaise along one wall.Therest of the furniture is in a pale wood.Including—right in the middle—a king-sized four-poster bed hung with the same white muslin as the curtains and dressed with heavy white sheets.
“Itake it from that expression that you like it?” saysMaxwith an affectionate smile. “Yourmouth is actually open.”
Icast my eyes around the room again, struggling to soak it all up at once.Ifthe bedroom is this gorgeous, what must the rest of the house be like?
“It’sbeautiful.Unreal.”Ihop from one foot to the other. “ButI’llappreciate it a lot more onceI’vebeen to the restroom.”
Hepoints to a door on the opposite side of the room.
Ihalf skip, half trot, and open the door to a bathroom that might be bigger than my bedroom.
Amidthe blessed relief of peeing,Itake in the claw-foot tub, the glass-walled shower with a rain head the size of a dinner plate, and the pale blue and brilliant white tiles that surround them.Thewalls are wainscoted with what looks like weathered driftwood, matching the vanity.
Idry my hands on the whitest, thickest towelI’veever felt and head back to findMaxleaning against the open doorway looking out, his back to me.
Iwalk up behind him, slip my hands around his waist, and nestle into his back.Hesmells ofMom’scucumber-and-mint soap.Howfunny he’s tried more than one of them.
“NowIcan admire everything properly,”Itell the spot between his shoulder blades.
Heturns around to face me and taps his finger on my nose. “Youmight have caught the sun.Thisis a bit pink.”
Hereplaces his finger with a gentle brush of his lips.Whatis it with this man and his nose kisses that make my entire body tremble?Awarmth blooms in my belly and spreads down to my center as he pulls me to him and moves his mouth to mine.
MaybeI’mheady from the surroundings, the helicopter, the island, the beach, the stunning bedroom.Ormaybe it’s justMaxand a unique part of him that stirs a unique part of me.Butwhatever it is, my body yearns for him.
Ipush my fingers through his hair as he grabs my butt and presses himself against me.Ourmouths move as one, in a long deep kiss that tells me there’s more to it for him than a meaningless hit-and-run.
WillIstill campaign like hell to stop his store?Ofcourse.
IfIfail, will his business still crush mine?Ofcourse.
