Page 42 of Stealing Blinds

Her joy tapers off though. She bites her lip and glances back toward her room with an expression I can’t discern coasting over her face.

“Hey.” I move toward her while still giving her some breathing room. “If you’re on yours now—and this isn’t some pathetic attempt to pretend you aren’t aware that you’re the sexiest woman in existence—we can skip the beach tomorrow. Movies and junk food sound just as good to me. I came here for you, not the island.”

She sucks in a heavy breath. “No, I’m … the beach is good.”

“Good.”

Nodding, she turns to leave but thinks better of it and twists back to me, her focus planted firmly on my face. “How long will this visit be?”

I walk back to my bag, pulling out a T-shirt, shorts, and my toiletries and setting them on the bed. “As long as it takes.”

Not-so-well-disguised fury seeps into her tone. “As long as it takes for what?”

Relishing the ability to push her buttons, I face her while unbuckling my belt. “For several things, but one would be for you to tell me what’s got you so shaken.”

Her fury drowns in concern—or fear. “I told you I hurt my ankle.”

“And I heard the lie.”

“I really did step wrong when we were on the phone.”

I whip my belt off. “Something else happened too.”

She narrows her eyes, blasting past my keen deduction. “Don’t you have a resort to run?”

“You’ve had an inside peek at what I do. I think they can spare me.”

Another laugh. “That’s your whole job? Penis piñatas and farm animals?”

“No.” I pull down my zipper with a smirk because she follows the movement. “I’m in charge of entertainment.”

She huffs and looks away, her lips battling her amusement. “Wonderful. They let you strip remotely?”

“This is for your eyes only, baby.” Since she still isn’t looking at me, I leave my pants hanging off my hips while I elaborate. “I oversee the entertainment department of La Lune Noire. But my managers are phenomenal, so they don’t need me on-site.”

Finally, her attention flits to me, and she grants herself a swift perusal with an unaffected expression. “I’d better get some sleep.”

“Sure, unless you want to finish this in the shower.”

She shakes her head, sauntering into the hall, and singing, “Be warned: I might show up to breakfast with zit cream all over my face.”

“Then I’ll know you want me.” I kick my pants off with enough noise that she’s aware of exactly what’s happening and surely picturing me in my boxer briefs—or out of them.

“How do you figure?” she asks, irritated and resisting the urge to peer back in here.

“First,” I call, gathering my things for the shower, “trying that hard to repel me—no matter how useless—would be a clear indication that you don’t trust yourself around me because squeezing those thighs tight isn’t cutting it. Yep, I noticed. But even if it were an accidental run-in, it would still prove my point. Obsessing over a blemish that I couldn’t even see could only mean you’re actually obsessing over me.”

“You’re impossible,” she grouses from beyond the room.

“You’re not mad about that, Palmer. You’re mad because, deep down, you consider me a possibility.”

“In your conceited mind, I’m sure that’s the way you see it, but you’re a pain in my ass, Noire.”

“Say the word, and I’ll even it out with some pleasure,” I holler as I head to the bathroom.

She can’t smother her laughter as she chirps, “Good night.”

“Sweet dreams, buddy.”