“Did you know that the founder of Parrot Cay, Weebly Dixon, had a pet parrot he trained to eat from his mouth?” When he spoke again, Thomas sounded more like himself, amused and calm. “He left all his money and property to her, much to his widow’s dismay. And the parrot’s name was?—”
“Don’t tell me.” Callie groaned. “Birdie. Of course.”
“There were unsavory rumors. Rival developers called Birdie his Parrot Paramour.”
Callie thought for a moment. “Shouldn’t she have been his Bird of Paradise?”
He looked over his shoulder and grinned at her. “Nice.”
He’d been offering similar tidbits for her amusement all day, products of the research he’d done for their trip. And now that she wasn’t hustling to serve a growing line of patrons as he slowpoked his way through the archives, she could remember why she’d once sought him out at every opportunity, eager to hear whatever fascinating or funny story he had to offer.
Today, she’d noticed something new about him. Whenever she laughed, he did too. And every time, he ducked his head in the most adorable way. As if he were hiding his amusement from the world and keeping it private, only shared between the two of them. But then he’d sneak a glance up at her, as if glorying in her hilarity. As if he’d worked for it and was proud of it.
Maybe he had. Maybe he was.
This particular story, though, had served an additional purpose. Distraction.
And distraction was welcome, because soon they’d need to wash up and leave for dinner. They’d chat and eat and film some bits for the show.
Then they’d come back to the room. To the king-sized bed. Alone.
And she had no idea what would happen then.
FOUR
Thomas made his escape in the pre-dawn darkness.
Last night—his first spent beside Callie—he’d rushed to shower before her, donned a tee and pajama bottoms, and burrowed under the covers in deep, feigned sleep before she’d emerged from her own bedtime routine in the bathroom.
He’d kept his breathing steady and his body motionless, even when he’d heard her quiet whisper of his name. Even when he’d felt himself sinking into the hazy pleasure of sharing a bed with Callie Adesso, the woman he desired with shocking urgency.
Unprecedented, all-encompassing urgency.
He’d only had a handful of women in his life and his arms, and he’d cared about them. But despite his best intentions and efforts, they’d always drifted away from him. Because, they said, he’d drifted away first. Into his own thoughts and ideas and interests. Into a headspace where he didn’t pay attention to them, to anything, the way he should.
Or maybe drifted away wasn’t the right description, since they’d told him—and he knew they were right—he’d never really been present. Not as they’d deserved and needed.
He’d grieved. He’d been ashamed. He’d been lonely at times and resigned to more loneliness to come.
He hadn’t known how to fix whatever was broken inside him.
But when he’d met Callie, the click had almost been audible.
There was no subject that would banish her completely from his thoughts. No mental games that could engross him so wholly that he would forget her existence for hours at a time. No distraction from her presence.
Especially now that they were sharing a bed.
He couldn’t focus on anything but the soft whoosh of her breathing. The heat that radiated from her lush body and gathered beneath the covers. The citrusy smell of the hotel-provided body wash, which had turned warmer and more alluring as it mingled with her own scent. And, when he’d woken in the middle of the night, the pale gleam and abundant curves of her velvety flesh by moonlight.
Her sleeveless, floaty nightgown might have been born from his fantasies. In her restless sleep, she kept kicking free from the covers and sprawling across the bed in disarray, that nightgown bunched around her round thighs and climbing.
Ever-changing and ever-fascinating in sleep, as in wakefulness. He should’ve known.
Still, he’d turned his back to the sight and gripped the edge of the bed to ensure he didn’t move closer. And he’d made sure to rise before her, get dressed in the dark, and leave the room before she could awaken.
At this time of the morning, the hotels halls were silent, and the camera crew was nowhere to be found. The lounge chairs by the shore were empty, the golden sands empty of anyone but a few employees raking bits of errant seaweed into piles. No doubt seaweed was not considered parrot-tastic enough to tolerate.
Also, he was pretty sure he could spot one of the costumed parrots in the distance, partially hidden behind some palms, its beak pointed his way.
