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I look up and see Dare, barely winded, with the broom in his hand and a trash bag tied at his feet. I grab my phone and take a picture of his sexy, sweaty face. Would anyone back in the city believe I hadtheDare Sullivan cleaning the streets in Uruguay?
“All done?” I sign.
He reaches a hand out to me and pulls me to my feet. “While I was cleaning up the wreckage, I noticed something. That car wasn’t a Black Feather.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Did you think I’d be stupid enough to trashanotherexpensive car? There are only five Black Feathers in the world, you know?”
“I do know.” His eyes linger on my lips. “Should I buy them all for you so you can take your bat to them one-by-one?”
Rolling my eyes, I shove him.
He captures my hand and pulls me closer.
My chest brushes his with every inhale.
His thumb caresses my knuckles. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Each sweep revs my engines.
My brain and body are in agreement for once.
Get Dare naked.
Straddle his perfect body.
Comb your fingers through his hair while he gives you all the pleasure you can handle.
I try to swallow and realize there’s not enough water in my mouth to do so. Fanning my face, I turn away.
I’m thinking of bunnies hopping in emerald-green fields, babies rattling their toys. Ferns. Lots and lots of ferns. The ferns I’ll plant in exchange for my private jet passage.
Slowly, my blood returns to a normal temperature.
Food before anything.
Spending the night with Dare won’t be fun if he passes out from malnutrition. And if I have to cart him, naked and unresponsive, to a hospital in a foreign land where they only have Spanish Sign Language interpreters… It’s a horrible thought.
After performing my own hypothetical ice bucket challenge, I feel comfortable enough to close the distance between me and Dare. Running my hand down his chest, I look up, smile and sign, “I want to go upstairs.”
His fingers close around my wrist immediately.
“But,” I shake him off, “there’s something we need to do first.”
* * *
Dare isnothappy when I lead him to the hotel’s dining room instead of his suite and he makes it very clear by scowling so hard the waitress’s hand shakes when she pours our water.
“I’m not hungry,” he signs when we’re alone.
“I heard you haven’t been eating.”
“Mosely,” he grumbles.
“Forget Mosely.I’mhungry,” I sign.
“Is that why you ordered steak? You’re no longer on a diet?” He shows me the phone that’s still open to my notepad.
“Okay, fine. I was told you’re on the verge of collapsing.”
