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“Well, if you’re interested in selling, maybe we could work something out.”
“Funny you should mention that—some guy named Jagger came by this morning and offered the same.”
Parker freezes, his eyes narrowing. “It’s not my place to tell you what to do, but I’ll warn you—the Capellis are bad news. I wouldn’t do business with any one of them.”
I nod. “That’s exactly what Smith said.”
“Good, I’m glad. Oh hey, man,” Parker tips his chin up. “Speak of angels…”
My heart squeezes painfully in my chest as Smith squeezes in beside me, his body brushing up against mine and sending a thrill racing through me. He’s so close I catch the fresh scent of his cologne.
I glance over and wave, noting the way his chest fills out his button-down. Heat flames my cheeks and I’m glad it’s dark outside now.
“Hopefully you weren’t telling Elise any of my embarrassing stories,” Smith says, cocking an eyebrow.
“Never.” Parker crosses his heart and Smith chuckles, the deep vibrations sending shock waves to my core.
And here I thought that part of me was dead.
The next hour passes in a blur of laughter, wine, and funny stories, both Parker and Smith trying to one-up the other.
“So—who do you think’s funnier, Elise? Me or Smitty?” Parker leans over the bar, grabbing my hand. Smith bristles next to me, then reaches over and brushes Parker’s hand away.
“I’m sure it’s not even a contest, right?” Smith’s fingers linger on my forearm, his touch searing my skin, and all I can manage is a nod.
“Right. Sorry, Parker.” I scrunch my nose at him and Parker lets out a low whistle.
“I see who the crowd favorite is tonight. Guess I’m going to have to work on my material.”
A low rumble of thunder sounds in the distance, and the wind picks up.
“I should get going, it’s late,” I say.
“No, the night’s still young,” Parker says. “Besides, I need to win the next round of Who’s Funnier.”
A drop of rain falls, then another. “I’m going to get drenched. Can you put it on my room for me?” I ask.
“Sure, I’ve got you.” Parker nods as more customers signal for their checks.
“I’m gonna head out, too. Add it to my tab.” Smith taps the bar, but doesn’t leave. Instead, he waits for me, offering his strong hand as I stand.
“Thanks,” I murmur, gazing up at him, my throat dry.
More rain falls—big, cold drops—and Smith and I run toward the bungalows hand-in-hand. Lightning shoots across the sky and the rain sheets down around us. By the time we arrive at Bungalow Four, my hair’s soaking and beads of water trickle down my skin. Smith’s shirt is translucent, the fabric clinging to his muscular pecs.
I shiver beneath the ambient glow of the hotel light and Smith pulls me toward him, trying to warm me up.
My breath catches as the rain falls steadily behind us. “You want to come in and dry off? Wait for the storm to pass?”
He hesitates for a second and my gut clenches—maybe I’ve overstepped?
“Sure.”
I pull out my key and unlock the door to Bungalow Four.
CHAPTER7
Smith
