Page 18 of Resurgent
I try to channel Gemma, searching for something clever and flirty and provocative to say, but all I come up with is, “Um…”Dammit, Charlotte, you can do better than that, my inner voice chides.
He flops onto his side next to me, his head propped up on his hand. “Relax, sweetheart. I was just teasing you.”
Right.
“You’re the wedding planner who doesn’t do relationships, and me…” He sighs, rolling onto his back, hands behind his head as he looks up at the ceiling. “There was no room in my life for a womanbeforeall this happened. There certainly isn’t now. Well…other than just for pleasure. There’s always room for that. So your virtue’s safe.” He looks over at me and grins wickedly. “Unless, of course, you’re game for some no-strings-attached sex.”
I wonder if things would have been different if we’d had this conversation that night in Playa. But really, it’s what my head has known all along. I’d just let my heart be swayed by that simultaneously sweet- and dirty-talking mouth of his. His mouth was pretty good other places too…
I clear my throat, reminding myself he doesn’t remember any of that. And there certainly isn’t going to be a repeat of it. I need to stop torturing myself with the memories and wishful thinking. He’s not interested in anything more than a little harmless flirtation. Two can play that game. As long as I remember it’s just that—a game.
“Hmmmmm.” I pretend to consider it, taking the opportunity to run my hands experimentally over his hard biceps. “Nah. I’m good.”
“Don’t worry about my ego,” he says, but he’s laughing, and I know it would take a lot more than your average, uptight wedding planner to put even the slightest dent his ego. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
Unfortunately, I do. Of course, there’s no way I’m tellinghimthat.
“Best sex of your life.” He waggles his eyebrows at me comically.
“No doubt,” I say, trying to sound flippant as I slip out from under him and sit up, straightening my shirt and smoothing my hair. “But you’re really not my type.”
He arches an eyebrow. “No?”
“Definitely not.” Gorgeous, take-charge alpha males with washboard abs and carved muscles are so not my thing.
“And what exactly is your type, Miss Windsor?” He’s teasing me again.
“My perfect guy issweet, accommodating, solid, dependable, and predictable.” I take a perverse pleasure in deliberately describing the antithesis of the man lying next to me.
He yawns. “Sounds boring.”
“Just because you don’t take anything seriously, that doesn’t mean what I want is boring. I like stability and routine. But most importantly, I like to be the one in control.”
His eyes are dancing. “Is that so?”
“Actually, yes. I don’t need some hotshot Navy SEAL who thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”
“So is that a no? Or…”
“Yes,” I say, laughing. That smile of his could charm the white off of rice.
“Oh! Yes?” He’s on me in an instant, nibbling my ear exaggeratedly. It’s supposed to be funny, but I still feel an erotic tug in my belly.
“No!” I push at his chest, giggling. “Stop.” He grabs my wrists and pins them over my head, then bends to grasp my earlobe with his teeth. He bites down, and my stomach drops deliciously in response. “If you don’t get off me, I’m going to knee you in the balls again.”
Laughing, he stands up, his hands held up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. But the offer’s open if you change your mind.” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer. “Let’s eat. I’m sure you’re starving.” Just like that, he’s already moved on, while my pulse is still jumping erratically.
“A little,” I admit. “But what I want more than anything is a shower.”
His eyes soften. “Go ahead. I’ll order room service while you clean up. I think we should try to stay out of sight as much as possible. This place is pretty secluded, and we’ve covered our tracks, but there’s no point in tempting fate. What do you want?”
Um, I’ll take one hot Navy SEAL with a side of dominance. “Anything is fine.”
I take my time in the shower, savoring the steaming hot spray from the rain shower head and the fragrant floral-scented bubbles washing away the nightmare of the last three days. Being with Liam—his easygoing charm and confidence and teasing banter—has distracted me from thinking about the ordeal I’ve been through over the last few days, but now that I’m alone, it’s harder to keep my emotions at bay. I keep remembering the men who grabbed me, the tip of the knife pressing into my skin, the terrifying certainty I was going to die having wasted my whole life waiting for it to begin…
I take a deep breath, scrubbing harder with the rough natural sponge provided by the hotel, and firmly push the memories away. I learned a long time ago that the best way to deal with bad things is to move on. Dwelling on them doesn’t change anything. More than half an hour later, I emerge from the bathroom, my hair still damp from the shower and my emotions firmly under control again. The wall of windows in the bedroom are actually doors, and Liam has opened all of them so that the outdoor terrace has become an extension of the romantic bedroom. There’s a hammock strung between two tree trunks, and two chairs on either side of a small table covered with platters of food. He’s waited for me to eat. “Sorry.” I sit down at the table in the chair across from Liam.
He stares at me so long, I start to squirm in my seat. What is it about those piercing blue eyes of his that seem to see all the way to my soul?
