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“Look on the bright side,” he said as he held out the chip bag. “I’m still no Ted Beaudine.”
“None of us are.” She reached inside and grabbed a handful. “He and my best friend are hooking up.”
“Meg?”
“How do you know M—?” She moaned as the salt from the chip hit her tongue. “Oh my god, these taste so good.”
“Meg and I had an entertaining chat at your farce of a rehearsal dinner.”
“I’m not surprised. You’re totally her type.” She stuffed more chips in
her mouth.
“Meg’s my type, too,” he said as a clap of thunder shook the boathouse. “Can’t see her with Ted, though.”
But Lucy could, and right now that was all that counted. Rain began pummeling the roof. She grabbed more chips and curled her toes around the edge of the cooler next to his feet. “Do you have any other goodies stashed away down here?”
“I might.” His eyes were on her bare legs, and he didn’t seem all that happy with what he saw. They were tanner than usual, but there was nothing wrong with them, other than a bruise on her shin starting to turn yellow. She also had a small chip in the blue polish on her big toe from tripping over the horseshoe stake. She hadn’t worn blue polish since she was a teen. She remembered painting Tracy’s baby toes that same color when it was just the two of them.
His gaze moved up her legs to her striped sleep boxers. His frown reminded her of the bra and panties she wasn’t wearing underneath. “What are you offering?” he said, his eyes lingering on her thighs with that same expression of displeasure.
“Offering?” She tugged on the boxer’s soft cotton leg openings, unwisely as it turned out, because pulling them down showcased a fair amount of stomach. Or maybe she’d done it on purpose to retaliate for his attitude. She no longer knew what she was thinking when it came to Patrick Shade. She dropped her feet to the deck. “How many loaves of bread have I baked for you?”
“The bread covers your rent, not my junk food.”
“Says you.”
“I guess I could share.” His gaze was on the move again, skimming her body until he reached her collarbone, dropping back to her breasts, where the thin fabric barely hid anything. He no longer seemed quite so critical, and as another clap of thunder shook the boathouse, she felt something shift inside her, a treacherous vibration, a risky thrum that had nothing to do with the stormy weather.
His eyes met hers. He nudged off the cooler lid with his bare foot, a gesture that shouldn’t have been nearly so enticing. She broke his gaze and looked inside, but instead of seeing an icy nest filled with beer and soda, she saw a treasure chest of chips, pretzels, Doritos, licorice whips, malted milk balls, cheese curls, and a jar of peanut butter. “El Dorado,” she whispered.
“Forbidden fruit,” he replied, but when she looked up, he was staring at her, not at his stash.
The rickety old boathouse became a secret cave—dimly lit and seductive. A trickle of rain coming through the leaky roof splashed her shoulder. He reached out, dabbed a drop with the tip of his finger, and dragged the moisture into the hollow of her collarbone. Her skin pebbled. “Stop it,” she said without any conviction.
He didn’t pretend not to know what she was talking about. A raindrop hit her thigh. He saw it but looked away and reached into the cooler. “You’re probably not interested in this.” He pulled out the peanut butter.
“So wrong.” Even she wasn’t sure whether she was talking about the peanut butter or something more dangerous.
The boat swayed at its mooring, and a shift in the wind sent a wet blast through the open end of the boathouse. Drips from the leaky roof had begun hitting the deck and, more damaging, the food stash. “Come on.” Panda picked up the cooler and carried it to the boat’s cabin, ducking as he entered.
Their relationship had changed today, and following him was fraught with peril. She liked thinking of him as the bad guy, but today had altered that. On the other hand, his vasectomy, not to mention that incredible body, made him irresistible.
Viper followed him.
The cabin was small, with only a tiny galley and a V-shaped berth in the bow. Panda set down the cooler and sank into the navy-blue vinyl cushions. He gave her a lazy smile, then opened the peanut butter jar, scooped up a glob with a pretzel rod, and held it out to her.
Two consenting adults … One vasectomy … An ex-fiancé who, on this very night, was making love to her best friend … The stars were in perfect alignment.
Lucy accepted the pretzel and sat on the cushion across from Panda. “I don’t even like peanut butter very much.”
“It’s the deprivation,” he said. “It makes you want what’s forbidden all that much more.” The way he gazed at her across the narrow space—straight into her eyes—made his meaning clear.
She had the perfect smutty prop in her hand, a pretzel stick with a dollop of peanut butter clinging to the tip. Another woman might have made the most of it, but Viper didn’t feel like it. She snapped off the end between her teeth. “I’m the only one eating.”
“I got a head start.” He opened a bag of licorice whips but didn’t take any out. He simply gazed at her. Not at her legs or her breasts. Just at her, which felt even more intimate. His voice came to her in a husky vapor. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“I know.”
