“What’s that in your hand?”
“An insurance policy.”
Dangling between his thumb and forefinger was something that looked suspiciously like a wire, and further investigation revealed that the panel on the cart’s steering column was askew.
“This is resort property.”
“Yep, and I guess I made the right call not to trust you with access to it.”
“You broke our only means of transportation?”
“No, I took it out of service. Temporarily.”
“I should?—”
“You should come in and shower,” Westin cut him off. “I can smell the sweaty outrage on you from here. That really the first impression you want to make at dinner?”
“I don’t know why I have to go at all.”
Westin pushed away from the railing and stretched his arms above his head. It threw back his shoulders and sent more muscles dancing beneath that breadth of skin and sinew. It also made the towel slip a fraction of an inch lower.
Curse him.
“Because we need to at least make a show of being together for introductions. After tonight, I don’t care what you do.”
“Just tell them I have a headache.”
“We’ve been married less than an hour and you’re already using that excuse?”
“Hear it a lot, do you?” Evan frowned, and Heath added acheck mark next to his own name on the scorecard in his mind. “I won’t smell much better if I have to walk back.”
Westin spun the wire like a propeller while putting on an exaggerated thinking face. “I could be coerced into giving you a ride.”
“Coerced?” Heath shoved an extra measure of his sweaty outrage into the word while a colorful selection of methods flooded his mind. A ride indeed…
Stop that!
Westin crossed his arms, looking even more smug. “I’d like you to apologize for doubting me.”
“You want an apology?” Heath echoed with a scoff. “Then what? I’m supposed to just trust you won’t ditch me the second I get into the shower?”
Westin smiled, and Heath cursed inwardly. The arrogant bastard was eating this with a spoon.
“I’ll give you the wire,” he promised, holding up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“You expect me to believe you were a Boy Scout?”
“You trying to make it two apologies?”
“Oh, come on! If that’s true, I’m the queen of Denmark.”
“Længe leve dronningen,pookie.”
The man spoke Dutch? Of course he did.
Heath stomped up the stairs with exaggerated ire, relieved Westin had at least put on pants before he joined him in the living room. Thoughonlypants.
The light linen trousers, with the way they hung from his hips, were even more disruptive. All those dips and ripples, and the ginger-brown trail leading to things Heath was absolutelynotgoing to think about or stare at.
