He watched her grab for the sheet and raised one dark, sexy brow. But all he said was, “Head’s free, if you want to use it.”
Head?Oh, the bathroom.
“Thanks.” She cleared her throat. What exactly did you say to a man who’d given you four earth-shattering orgasms the night before?Thank you?Way to go?Let’s do this again sometime?“What time is it?”
“Almost seven. I’ll drop you on my way to work.”
Guy code forPlease leave now.
Her stomach sank. She should have snuck out while he was in the shower. Although, sneak how? There were no cabs on Dare Island, only the senior shuttle service. And she very much doubted they would appreciate being called out at seven in the morning to spare her the walk of shame.
She scrambled for her bra. “Right. Just give me a second, I’ll...”Pull myself together. Where were her panties, damn it?
“Lauren.”
She stopped.
Jack swooped and kissed her hard, like he wasn’t finished with her yet. He smelled so good, like toothpaste and clean male skin. Her toes curled under the covers.
Before she could wrap her brain or her arms around him, he straightened. “You’re fine. Coffee’ll be ready when you get out.”
She watched, confounded, as he strolled through the narrow door.
Coffee.
Galvanized, she threw back the covers. A corner of the blanket swept the built-in storage unit on the other side of the bed, knocking something to the floor. A book. She flopped across the mattress to retrieve it, fingers stretching, naked butt in the air.
Her own face—younger, smoother, under a blond pixie cut—smiled up at her from the carpet. Her publicity photo, on the back cover jacket of her book.
Her breath backed up in her lungs. Jack was reading her book,Hostage Girl: My Story.
She sat back on her heels on the bed, the book in her hand. Lots of people read her book.Forty-eight weeks on theTimeslist.
But knowing Jack was reading up on her, investigating her like one of his cases, made her feel exposed. At a disadvantage. Vulnerable. It was a degree of intimacy she wasn’t prepared for. Like the bed-head-and-pillow-crease moment all over again.
She could still smell him on her skin. Still feel the imprint of him deep in her body, every breath, every movement, a reminder of last night and those four devastating orgasms.
Positive thoughts, she told herself. Constructive action. What she needed was a shower.
So she took one, standing under the lukewarm spray before dressing hastily in last night’s rumpled clothes.
When she went out on deck, Jack was squatting by the animal trap, talking in a calm, soothing voice to the kitten pressed against the bars. So he was kind to animals, too.
Lauren sighed. Like he wasn’t irresistible enough already.
At the sound of her footsteps, he straightened, all muscled competence and controlled male grace. For a moment, she let herself drink in the scene: the hazy sunlight, the golden sea, the scent of the breeze off the water. The man, unwrinkled, unwilted, his strong Roman features gilded by the sun, his smile a miracle of disciplined beauty.
Why spoil the moment? Why not just, well,livein it and keep her mouth shut for once? She could pretend she hadn’t seen anything.
But she was really sick of pretending.
“I wasn’t snooping,” she said.
Jack’s lips did that unbelievably sexy quirk thing. Her breath caught. The man should really smile more often. “So you didn’t find the stack ofPlayboys under the bed.”
“No. Thank you.” She accepted the coffee he handed her and took a careful sip. Hot and bitter. “I found...” Her throat closed.Oh, crap. Just do it. Wordlessly, she held out the book.
His gaze dropped to the cover; rose to her face, his dark eyes alert. Assessing. He didn’t say anything.
