“Whoever you were thinking about. Stop thinking about him. He isn’t here.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Lying doesn’t look good on you, butterfly.”
I squint at him. “You have no idea who I am or what I’m thinking about.”
His smile grows. “There she is.”
I crumple my face in confusion.
“A glimpse of the woman from the dance floor last night. The one who comes out when you let your guard down just a little bit.”
His words anger me. “Look, I don’t know whoyouare, and you have no right to stand at my door trying to tell me who or what to think about.”
He nods. “There she is again. I’m not trying to shrink you, but I know a woman who comes down to Cabo by herself is for one of a few reasons.”
“How do you know I’m by myself?”
“The women you were with last night left today.”
“How do you know—”
“I overheard them.”
“Are you some sort of stalker?”
The chuckle he lets out is rich, heavy, and dipped in a little bit of danger. It sends a chill through my body, and I find myself unscrewing the cap of the water bottle and taking another long sip.
“I don’t drug women and I don’t stalk them. I’m on vacation just as you are. And you can trust me.”
I lift an eyebrow. “How am I supposed to know that?”
“Because I’m a firefighter,” he responds cockily. “I save lives for a living. Would anyone with that type of job be a threat to you?”
I part my lips but no words come out.
“Exactly. Drink up. I’ll give you thirty minutes to change, and then I’m coming back so we can have breakfast before we get our day started.”
“We?”
He takes a step back. “That’s what I said, butterfly.”
“I don’t even know your name.”
“Emanuel. And yours?”
My mouth flaps open. “N-Nadine,” I lie.
He pauses and tilts his head. For a second, I think he’s going to call me on my lie. As if he somehow knows my name isn’t really Nadine. I wrack my brain to recall whether I gave him my name the night before. I don’t think so. And he doesn’t call me out.
Instead, he tips his head toward the bottle of water still in my hand. “Finish that up, Nadine. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”
I watch as he turns, sauntering off. My eyes rove over the hard contours of his bronzed skin. His shoulders are broad, as is his back. The dark, sleeveless T-shirt he wears looks as if it’s been sewn just to etch out his muscles perfectly for spectator sport. The navy blue swim trunks he wears are long, leaving only his toned calves exposed.
How can a man’s calves be attractive?I question as I stare on for a few more seconds until he turns to his hotel room, looks back at me, and tosses me a wink before entering his own room.
Stepping back inside of my hotel room, I shut the door and chug the last of the water. This time it has nothing to do with my hangover.
