Would fucking in the poison garden give someone a rash? Probably. It would probably also get someone a public-indecency charge, which was a bigger problem.
“All right,” Max finally said after what felt like either five minutes or five hours. “I think we’ve proven enough hauntings for tonight.”
“You mean we haven’t proven any?”
“Stay spooky,” Max told the camera, which was apparently still on, then shut it off. “That’s gonna be popular,” he told her.
“What is? A bunch of plants in the dark?”
“Yeah, people love dark plants,” he deadpanned, then walked over to her. He was still holding the camera in one hand and still had that stupid camera harness strapped on over his shirt, and Sloane’s fingertips tingled anyway.
“Obviously what’s gonna be popular is me getting thoroughly told off by a hot woman who doesn’t believe me for a second,” he said, and took another step closer. Sloane felt herself flush. She could feel her heartbeat in the hollow of her throat.
After a moment, she realized she was looking at Max’s mouth and raised her eyes.
“In my experience, people don’t usually like that,” she said.
“Then you’ve got the wrong audience.”
“And you’ve got the right one?”
“I guess we’ll find out, but I’m usually a pretty good judge,” he said. His eyes flicked down to her mouth, then back up.
“Are we still doing the ocean walk tonight, or are we saving it for tomorrow?” Sloane asked.
“Well, I was thinking,” Max started. He leaned away and grabbed the camera case, opening it. “If the camera we set up earlier catches something tonight, then we’d really have something to talk about tomorrow,” he said, zipping the camera into the case and lowering it to the ground again. “So it makes more sense to wait. Professionally speaking.”
He tugged at the closure to his camera harness, then frowned when it didn’t unbuckle.
“As long as you’re being professional when you’re pretending to see ghosts,” Sloane said, watching his hands. “I wouldn’t want to compromise your chicanery.”
“Shit, Sloane, that’s a good word,” Max said, his voice a little lower than before. “What was it you called me at the wedding?” He tugged at the harness again. It didn’t budge, and Sloane wasn’t sure whether he was faking it or not, but she didn’t care.
“You want me to get that?”
He grinned, again. “Would you?”
Just for that, she pulled it away from his chest and let it snap back. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make Max inhale sharply, lips parted.
“I think it was charlatan,” she said, and slid her fingers under the buckle. It came apart immediately, so she tugged on it again before she let Max take it off. “Maybe also snake oil salesman—I can’t remember.”
There was no reason for Max to take off his stupid camera harness one arm at a time, making his T-shirt stretch around his shoulders like that, but he did. Sloane’s whole body felt hot against the cool night air, and she didn’t bother to pretend she wasn’t watching him do it.
“Wow,” he said, low and teasing. “You must be having a terrible time, then.”
His shirt was still a little twisted, so Sloane reached out and tugged it back into place. Max looked down to watch her hand, and when he looked back up, there was something predatory in his gaze.
“Not quite,” she said. “I could use a charlatan right now, actually. I think the air-conditioning in my room might be haunted.”
“Well, then,” Max said, that look still in his eyes. “We should head back right away.”
Chapter Seven
Sloane leaned against the hotel-room desk, feet crossed at the ankles, and watched Max’s hands as he put his ghost-hunting bullshit away in foam-lined cases. They’d wound up in his room, and to her surprise, he hadn’t pushed her against the wall and kissed her the second they’d walked in. Instead, he’d guided her with one hand on her lower back, said Let me take care of this, and now he was carefully placing equipment where it belonged. Sloane watched as he checked cords, running a thumb over the smooth surfaces, and she found she didn’t mind waiting a minute.
Finally, he shut the last case and flicked the latches closed, one with each thumb. It should have been boring, but he did it with his fingers curled over the top of the case just so, and then he rubbed the pads of his thumbs across the closed latch like he was making sure, and—Sloane liked it.
“You finished yet?” she asked before he could turn around.
