She considered letting him drown in his coffee. But her softer sensibilities won out. She whacked him on the back with perhaps abitmore force than was necessary.
After a couple of good hits, he caught her wrist. The look on his face saidYou looking to punch a hole through my back or what?
She refrained from telling himIt’d serve you right, you big butthead.But just barely.
Truth was, she was embarrassed the men of Deep Six Salvage—the group who’d hired her for her expertise at reading old Spanish scripts and then let her stay on because she was using the hunt for theSanta Cristinaas the subject of her doctoral dissertation—knew of her humiliation.
Never mind that they knew because she’d told them.
Why’d I do that again?She snapped imaginary fingers.Oh yeah. Because I thought maybe they’d talk some sense into Mason.
Mason… Yes, this was all his fault.
A pox on his penis, she thought uncharitably.May he grow boils, sprout hair from his ears, and get fat and flabby.
As soon as she finished the curse, she immediately took it back. It would be a crime to wish ill on someone as good-looking at Mason.
Not good-looking in the tall, low body fat, supermodel sense. But good-looking in the big, burly, looks-like-he-could-chop-down-a-redwood-with-a-hatchet sense. Good-looking in the black-haired, blue-eyed, chip-off-the-old-Roman-god sense.
You know, if you went for that sort of thing.
Which apparently she did.
From the first moment she saw him, she’d wanted to lock him in a room for a week, during which time she imagined she’d spend the majority of the hours on her back. Or on her side. Or on her front. And maybe up against a wall.
But it was not to be. He had soundly rejected the offer of her virginity.Harrumph!
“So?” She turned to Wolf expectantly, dragging her wrist from Mason’s grasp, becausewowza!The touch of his callused fingers made every single cell in her body focus with a capital F. “What were you two whispering about?”
“Guy stuff,” Wolf said succinctly.
She cocked her head. “Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, beer, and testicles?”
Wolf’s grin grew until it split his handsome face. “Pretty much.”
“I do love the smell of testosterone in the morning.” To prove her point, she breathed deeply and then immediately wished she hadn’t because…there it was.
Underneath the scent of sea and suntan lotion was that delicious aroma that was all Mason. It was warm and woodsy. Something she immediately recognized anytime he was near, and then couldn’t quite conjure up in her imagination when he wasn’t.
Lust unfolded in her belly like the pages of an old history book. It filled her up, from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes.
Thankfully, she was distracted by Romeo calling out, “Morning, Chrissy! Didn’t think it was possible you could look hotter than in a skintight wet suit, but I was wrong. Those shorts, eh?” Romeo made a face and bit his bottom lip. “Damn, woman.”
“Save your perfect smile for the tourists.” Chrissy motioned with her chin toward two bikinied ladies near the end of the bar who were batting their eyes in Romeo’s direction. “It doesn’t work on me.”
“You sure about that?” Romeo ran a seductive finger down Chrissy’s bare bicep when she stopped next to him.
Chrissy rolled her eyes, but there was no heat in her voice when she grumbled, “You’ve got some balls on you.”
Everyone knew Romeo flirted with anything that walked and sported double-X chromosomes. But while other guys might come off as smarmy and gross, Romeo managed to remain charming.
Alex supposed it was because he genuinelyenjoyedwomen. All shapes and colors and sizes. When it came to flirting and seduction, he believed in equal opportunities for everyone, and never told any lies to get a woman into bed. He was the epitome of sex positivity, and it attracted the ladies like an argument about the rate of economic growth during the Industrial Revolution would attract a gaggle of historians.
Plus, it helps that he looks like Mario Lopez and Jay Hernandez got together and made a baby.
“Just two balls at last count.” His teeth flashed white against his black goatee when he grinned at Chrissy. “But I’d be happy to get your second opinion.”
That got a laugh from Chrissy before she hopped onto the barstool beside him. “From what I’ve seen, you get more beaver than a mountain stream.” Unlike Alex, who tended to have a staccato-quick rhythm to her speech—due in no small part to her need to convey information as quickly as humanly possible—Chrissy talked like an islander. Slowly. Softly. Taking the Key West vibe, that wholeWe do less by Friday than most people do by 6:00 p.m.thing to heart. “Which means you don’t need to go hunting mine,” Chrissy finished.
