Page 66 of Stirring Up Love
Helpless to do anything about his appearance at this point, he pulled his toothpaste out of the travel case that he hadn’t left on the sink. More evidence of Simone’s well-meaning snooping. Sheesh, she had done a more thorough job on his luggage than TSA. He tightened his grip on the toothbrush against the irrational sense of violation.
He spit, his throat burning in a reminder that he was sick and royally screwed. He couldn’t have sabotaged his chances with Simone more if he’d tried. He’d meant to drag out their trip a little longer to give himself more time to prove himself an asset.
Instead, he’d proved he was a liability. If they didn’t make it back in time, he could kiss his chances for a partnership goodbye. She’d never speak to him again, let alone take the deal.
Except they’d kissed again. Could he blame that on delirium? No. He’d been fully lucid, every sense attuned to Simone. The peppermint from the gum she’d chewed to keep her eardrums from popping on the drive through the canyon; the warm, slick parting of her lips; the pressure of her hips as she rose to meet him ...
He gripped the cold porcelain of the sink basin to keep himself from slipping away into the heat of the memory. A memory tainted by her breaking away, all but bolting out of the room. He’d only known her since summer, but the disappearing act she’d pulled was the first time he’d ever seen her flee.
All because of their kiss. Because of him.
Just when she’d started to let her walls down and trust him, he’d gone and ruined his chances by making things complicated. Messy. Personal.
Darius’s words came back to him. Was he sabotaging himself? Or was he really falling for this pain-in-the-neck woman who also happened to be his shot at redemption?
A woman he couldn’t hide from forever, at least not unless he retreated to perch on the toilet lid, because his legs had about another minute before they’d give way. He put his toothbrush away and zipped the bag. Tucking it under his arm, he opened the door.
“Do the pants fit?”
He jumped back in surprise and banged his hip on the vanity. Simone sat cross-legged, doing a puzzle on the coffee table. Her gaze slid down his legs, and his fingers tightened around the doorknob. “You look comfy.”
Comfy was about the furthest from how he felt. In fact, if she kept looking at his ... pants, then he’d have to retreat into the bathroom.But she took a bite of muffin and went back to the puzzle. Shewouldlike puzzles.
“You got the fire going again.” He eased out the door, holding his bruised hip, and took a defensive position against the wall, back pressed to the rough timbers. “Where did you learn how to do that? Girl Scouts?”
Simone pressed a knuckle to her lips while she chewed. Which only made him think of how they’d taste, dusted with cinnamon sugar, luscious as melted butter ...
“I was too busy with 4-H for Girl Scouts.”
He’d been distracted by her mouth, but still,4-H? “Half of those words make sense to me,” he said, and she chuckled.
She pointed to a sooty piece of paper on the tiled hearth. “There’s instructions.” She stood and brushed off her hands on her pants—jeans, he noticed. Hypocrite. Then she leaned up and pulled the cord on the curtains, letting in slanting rays of afternoon sun.
He raised his arm to his eyes with a hiss.
A cackle reached his ears. “The vitamin D will do you good.”
“Or turn me to ash,” he scratched out.
“You’re looking mighty gray, Finn.” Disembodied, it was easier to hate her voice, though not by much. It was all raspy and warm. Jazz and scotch. “I thought vampires sparkled.”
He wheezed out a chuckle. “Don’t make me laugh.”
A hand settled on his waist, and he almost collapsed at the shock of her touch. Dropped his arm and found Simone inches away.
Worry swam in her golden eyes. “Why don’t you lie down before you fall over?”
No energy left to argue, he stepped toward the couch, but Simone boxed him out, their hips colliding. One way or another, this woman was going to be the death of him. He ventured a small move to the side and was stopped short by her outstretched arm.
“On the bed.” She pointed, one hand on her hips. “I nearly drowned you—by accident, for the record,” she said. “The least I can do is give you the comfy spot to recuperate. Ease my conscience.”
He hesitated.
“Get in bed, Finn.”
He hadn’t realized he liked take-charge women, but dang. He almost didn’t want to comply, just to see what she’d do next, but being stubborn wouldn’t help his case for partnership. And whatever his growing feelings for Simone were, they had to take a back seat to his business. Darius would murder him if he found out he’d lost out on this chance because of an off-base infatuation.
He pulled back the covers and eased himself down onto the sheets, almost whimpering at the plushness of the mattress. “Are you sure you want to give it up?”
