“Just like you thought you’d best me at yoga?”
“Hey, yoga’s not a competition,” she says.
“Spoken by the woman who tried to turn it into one,” I retort.
She flashes me aplease say yessmile. “It’ll be fun. Like bungee-jumping fun.”
“Bungee jumping is not fun.”
“It’s so fun,” she says, and I’m ready to counter her when I catch sight of a group of people with one person acting as the leader—likely one of the tour groups frequenting Darling Springs lately—at the end of the block, lifting their phones our way.
No one’s rushing Ripley. Still, I go on high alert, but I don’twant to alarm her. “Hold on,” I say, then I grab aSuch a Darling Towncap from the rack of sunglasses and hats next to us and turn to Ripley. “This would look good on you.”
I put it on her head without a second of hesitation. She flinches, and if flinches could be good, this one sure qualifies. It comes with a hitch in her breath. A parting of her lips.
I inhale, try to center myself and focus on the job—obscuring her. I grab the shades too. “This could be your new disguise.” I move her ever so slightly to the right so her back is to the tour group. The look on her face says she understands, and that she wants to be blocked from view. Just to be sure, I take my time adjusting the hat and the shades.
My hands are on her face, cupping her cheeks the way I did at the bar the night I kissed her—like I’d go mad if I didn’t taste her lips. That was how I felt then. Now, on the street, early in the morning, that madness returns.
It winds through me, an insistent buzz. A thrum of desire. The deep and potent need to kiss those pretty pink lips, to hold her face, to devour her kisses.
Then, to strip her down to nothing and…controlher.
Like I think she wants.
I swallow my rough desires, stealing a glance at the group. They’re dispersing.
“Do I look like me?” she asks.
What? Oh, right. The disguise. “It’s harder to tell,” I rasp out.
But I bet it’s not hard to tell where my mind went. I bet it’s written in my eyes.
That’s what I ought to be looking out for—thislust. The more I want her, the harder it’ll be to do my job without distraction.
Yet, I’m still here, adjusting the cap, touching her hair, wondering if she’d like it if I ran my fingers through it, then curled a fist around and tugged. The image sends a jolt of heat through me. Like a warning.
“We should go,” I say.
She stares at me like I’m an oddity.
“Well, we should.”
She points to the hat and the glasses. “Did you want me to get these?”
Oh. Shit. Right. “Yes. Good idea.”
I’ve got to get my focus back. I take her into the store and buy them, vowing to fight off all distractions for the rest of the day.
This is going to be the hardest job of my life.
17
A LAVENDER EYE MASK, PLEASE
BANKS
After we return, she retreats to the house to get ready for the day. I take the opportunity to check in with Dean back in Los Angeles as I walk around the perimeter of the property, chatting with my longtime friend on the phone.
