A dangerous grin pulls at one side of his lips, accented by the attractive shadow of his neatly trimmed scruff. “Just one?”
I smile back. I don’t mean to, but it’s better than releasing the twitter-pated giggle forming in the back of my throat. A thick lock of damp, dark hair falls over his left eye. I watch, slightly hypnotized, as a drop of water gathers at the tip and trickles down the length of his flawless face until it lands at the corner of his lips.
I clear my throat. “You’re suggesting that it would be difficult to tell the difference, but I have to disagree. Because one is, as you said yourself, thirsty for my blood. The other is just a human.”
Dawson’s smile only grows bigger. “Oh, but you forget, sweet Brinley, that this human is also a man. And that man has cravings of his own.”
I’ve always hated that whole shut-up-and-kiss-me line, but at this moment, it’s gaining great favor. I want Dawson to stop talking and put those heavenly lips on mine, right here. Right now.
My mouth actually waters in anticipation of that very thing. As far as I know, Dawson has never written his own lines, but maybe he should. He’s good.Too good.
He slicks his thick hair back with one hand, shoots me a playful wink, and rests on his back once more. “To be continued,” he says.
I force myself to flop onto my back again too, but inwardly, I have the right mind to call Dawson a tease. Every fiber in me was gearing up for that kiss.
The built-up adrenaline bounces about like the object of an old pinball game, popping this way and that, triggering sirens and bells along the way, desperate for some route of escape.
I thrum my fingers.
Bounce my foot.
And then let out a heavy sigh.
When all that fails to sedate the inward commotion, I hop to my feet and hurry to the pool. Without a word of warning, I jump, wrap my arms around my folded legs, and plop into the pool with a splash.
If Dawson’s goal is to get me worked up, he’s passing with flying colors. If it isn’t, he’s better than any character he’s played.
Either way, one thing is very clear—pool water aside—I’m inwayover my head.
CHAPTER9
Dawson
Yep, I scared her away.
That thought pummels me harder than the mega-blast showerhead as I run a bar of soap over my chest. I’ve got six days with Brinley if all goes well, yet already, I’m resorting to my tool bag oftricks that make women swoon.
Trouble is, I’m not trying to make Brinley swoon; I’m trying to show her that she can trust me to be in this for the long haul. That I’m husband and father material, not just make out material.
I clench my eyes shut, slap the soap back on its ledge, and duck my head beneath the stream. When the water feels like a jackhammer to my scalp, I yank back and remind myself to fiddle with the flow before I get in next time. For now, I turn the temperature to cold and let it pound against my shoulders and back until I’m cooled down enough to have my head straight.
Once I’ve had enough, I’m quick to dry off and hurry into the closet; it’s a his and hers sort of deal—a closet and bathroom for each of us, located on opposite ends of a hallway, accessible only from the main bedroom.
By the lineup of shirts, pants, suits, and swim trunks, I can only imagine how they stocked her side. The fact that she picked a one-piece at the pool didn’t escape me. In fact, it was as sexy as any two-piece could have been. But knowing the industry as well as I do, I don’t imagine there are a whole lot of one-pieces to choose from.
Since dinner calls for formal wear, I opt for a navy suit with a vest. When it’s time to select the tie, I close my eyes and try to guess what color of dress Brinley might choose. The color teal comes to mind, and while I can see her picking a dress that color, I know it has more to do with the color of her eyes.
At least it shouldn’t clash with anything the way red can. I shrug and snatch the teal tie off the rack.
In the final minutes leading up to dinner, I consider the ways this season will be different from the others. In the past two seasons, the contestants were near slaves to a list of activities that forced each couple to confront their relationship issues—past, present, and future.
Perhaps Marsha feared I’d fight the process if they outlined challenges with a heavy hand, but the fact is, I’ll be disappointed if they don’t at least do some. I initiated this whole thing because I wanted a third party to help us sort through all our junk.
“Daw-son,”Cy’s robotic voice belts from a nearby speaker. He drags my name out for a good ten seconds at least.“We’d like you to make your way to the Video Diary Nook to answer a few questions. It’s through the door just behind the staircase.”
“Okay.” Encouraged now, I hurry down the steps and circle around to survey the curved wall behind the staircase. The entry is marked like everything else around here, so I twist the knob and step into a box of a room with mirrors and, no doubt, cameras at every angle. Another door which probably leads to a broom closet is to my left. At the center of the room, a single stool stands before a small table with an iPad.
I give the device a glance and see that the screen is lit up with a greeting.Hello Dawson. Please answer the following prompts before dinner. Speak your answers aloud, facing the mirror before you.
