Page 8 of Resorting to Love
That left ziplining—a not-too-physical, not-too-close, busy activity. Or so I thought.
Turns out, there’s a fair amount of waiting together while ziplining. And those treetop platforms where the waiting took place…not spacious. Lots of innocent contact occurred.
Innocent.Ha.“Suitable for public” is a better description. Every brush of our fingers, every time he placed his palm on my back, subtly squeezed my hip, or trailed his fingertips down my arm… It’s a miracle the sparks didn’t set the forest on fire.
My zips were the only time my body wasn’t on high alert. Those brief intervals weren’t much of a reprieve, because I heard his deep voice calling my name each time I zinged above the forest floor. Sound carries up there. Straight todown there.
Though, if I’m being honest, my southern hemisphere isn’t the only part of me interested in Eli. His hotness level requires its own scale, yes. But he’s also intelligent, attentive, and has a great sense of humor. No matter how much sarcasm or ribbing I dished, he not only took it, he seemed to enjoy it. Honestly, I think he set me up to give him shit. And the more I gave, the more he laughed. Smiled. Touched me. Gah, the touching. Who knew grazing fingers could be such a turn on?
There’s a lot to like about Eli Wood. Too much. Nobody can be that great.
It could be an act. Pretending to be someone he’s notishis job. Based on the reactions from people who recognized him during our outing—which was practically everyone—he’s a great actor. A nice celebrity, too, because he took time to make every single one of those fans feel important.
Every other minute of our time together, he ensuredIfelt important. It’s been a long time since a man did that.
By the time he walked me back to Skyview Cottage, my body and brain were in agreement. A resoundinghell yesto having Eli fill my vacancy. Right then, please and thank you.
Except… He didn’t even try to kiss me.
I’m a go-get-it kind of woman, not a chase-after-him one.
Maybe all his innuendos and touching were simply part of his flirtatious nature. Whatever the reason for his lack of action at my porch stairs, so be it. I don’t need a man. Not permanently, not temporarily, not as a friend. I’m fine on my own.
To prove it—not that I need to—I’m wearing cutoff sweat pants, a stretched-out-of-shape t-shirt that’s seen better days, and faded canvas sneakers to dinner, alone.
I look skyward as I step out of my cabin. If my mom’s up there, pulling the strings on this vacation from her heavenly home, she’s obviously gotten them tangled. “Whatever you thought would happen here, it won’t.”
“I thought we’d start with dinner.”
I whip around to see Eli standing at the edge of the porch. And I’m suddenly speechless—which doesn’t happen often.
A crisp, tailored, white shirt with the top few buttons undone is tucked into gray slacks that mold to his quadriceps without being tight. A dark belt accents his lean waist and draws my eyes to his downward, to his package where it fills the front of his pants. Matte-leather oxfords that look as if they’re brand-new finish a look that’s straight off the cover of magazine.
This morning, he stepped onto my porch in casual shorts and a t-shirt. A damn attractive man, but an everyday one. Tonight, he looks like somebody famous.
“Not here, precisely,” he says, closing the gap between us as I continue to slow blink and gape. “We have a reservation in the main dining room. Then I thought we’d go to the dance hall, since I wouldn’t want you to get twitchy from sitting still too long.” He winks, his blue eyes as clear as the evening sky he caught me speaking to.
“You assume a lot. What if I have other plans?” I make a sweeping gesture atmyensemble. “You know, like foraging through the dumpster for table scraps.”
His chuckle flips the damn switch inside me. “Then I’ll join you on the dumpster dive,” he says, sliding his arm around my waist and tugging me against his warm, solid body. “And have the time of my life doing it.”
The time of my life.Words my mom used whenever she talked about her time at this resort. Words she wrote into the letter that accompanied this trip.
Sarcasm is my go-to, but all I’ve got right now are serious memories. Dammit. I push the emotions down and force a smile. “Let’s savethatexcitement for another time.” I pat his chest while easing backward. “You can come in while I change. I only need a few minutes.”
“Chloe.” He catches my hand, drawing me to him again before I can turn toward the door. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have assumed. And I hate that I stole your beautiful light, so I hope you’ll give me a shot to fix things. Would you have dinner with me? Anywhere, wearing anything. I just want to spend time with you.”
“I’d like that.” Saying the words doesn’t ease the crease between his brows. Probably because I’m still tense in his arms. “You didn’t steal my light. Look, I’m usually good at bottling my inner crap, but you touched a weak spot in the bottle, and now shit’s spilling out. That leaves us with a couple of choices. The best option is you acting as if you never saw the crack in the bottle, and we spend the night having a great time together. You’re an actor, so that should be easy.”
“I’m not acting with you.”
It’d be so much easier to turn my emotions off if he were just a superficial, egotistic hottie. Damn him for being more.
“What are the other choices?” he asks.
“We don’t spend any more time together.”
“Not an option. Next.”
