We get out of the car, and Cecily meets me at the back. I pop the trunk, hand Cecily the Just Married sign, and grab our luggage. We both brought soft-sided bags with handles, not a rolling suitcase in sight. Cecily places the sign on the now-empty floor of the trunk, then shoulders her purse and larger travel bag, binder clutched to her chest. She reaches for her luggage, but I shrug her off. "I've got it."
She gives me a look. "Are you going to carry my bag for three weeks?"
"No. Sometimes I'll set it down."
She turns away to keep me from seeing her smile. Too late. I glimpsed it.
We check in at reception and are led down a cactus-lined path to a group of muted salmon-pink casitas. Each one has a seating area out front with a rough-hewn wood overhang. It's charming and western and our home for the next two days.
The receptionist opens the door with an actual key, which she places on the small table inside the door. "Let us know if you need anything. Please enjoy your stay."
Then she's gone, and there's nothing in the room but silence and a massive bed.
"Do you feel like it's staring at you?" Cecily asks, eyeing the bed.
"Sort of, yeah." I walk over, giving it a hip check. It doesn't budge. The frame is made of solid wood. "Maybe if we lie on it, we'll take away some of its power."
Cecily saunters over. She slides the hair tie from the bottom of her braid, positions it on her wrist, and runs her fingers through her hair. The gold bangles tinkle, ceasing as they fall down her forearm.
I swear I try not to stare at her, but her eyes are closed while she massages her fingers over her scalp, and the motion lifts her chest, pushing it out a bit, and, yes I am a nice, respectful man, but I am also human. Humans like pretty things. I don't make the rules.
Cecily finishes her post-braid ritual. She hoists herself onto the tall bed, lying back on her elbows. Her legs stretch out, sleek and tan and toned in those denim cut-offs. "Let's get this over with," she says, patting the empty space beside her.
I'd love to, but now I have a bit of a problem. If I lay on that bed, Cecily is going to see how very much a certain part of my anatomy enjoyed watching her not-intended-to-be-sensual bedside grooming.
I roll back on my heels. The move is really just a covert way for me to place my hands in my pockets and tent the front of my shorts. "I'm going to freshen up first."
Cecily's eyes squint in confusion. "You know it was your idea to get on this bed, right?"
"Mm-hmm," I say, trying to see but not see Cecily's shape on that bed. Her dark hair wavy from her braid, spilling out behind her.
People chewing with their mouths open.
How hot dogs are made.
In-grown toenails.
Nothing is working. That fucker is still punching the front of my shorts.
Cecily frowns and rolls over onto her side. She props her head up on her hand, arm bent. Gravity does its job, weighing down her breasts. They are round and full and there's now a deep line of cleavage, reducing me to a pubescent male. Fuck you, gravity.
"Dominic—" My name is all that Cecily can get out, because her eyes are level with my crotch. And, despite my best efforts at concealment, Cecily has clocked my raging erection.
"Oh," she says, the blush on her cheeks instantaneous.
It cannot be any more crimson than the heat I feel rushing over me. Is it possible for the entire body to blush, and have it not be from excess niacin or an allergic reaction? Because, damn, do I feel hot all over.
She sits up quickly, cross-legged on the printed bedspread. "I'm gonna—" Her eyes flash around the room. She must decide on something, because she launches herself off the bed. "Take a walk," she says, with too much gusto. "You, uhh—" She pauses to slide her feet into the shoes she discarded by the door. "You do you. Literally."
Cecily flees.
My head drops. Perhaps, when I step through the bathroom door, I will be thrust into a different world. I'll even take a sinkhole.
I'm a grown man. Persistent and unrelenting hard-ons should be something I can handle. I step into the bathroom (no sinkhole, no portals), and close the door behind me. Gripping the edge of the bathroom sink, I force my gaze to the front of my shorts.
Wow. No wonder Cecily escaped. This thing was pointed right at her.
I take so many deep breaths, I lose count. In for four, out for four. I should be the most relaxed man in the desert southwest, but I'm not. This thing will not go down. I turn around, and face the door.
