Page 51 of Hired By the Enemy
“I’m pretty sure my ‘Oh my god, Matthew, your ass is amazing’ is equally up there.”
“So you love my brain and my ass then?” He quirks an eyebrow.
“They both have their good points,” I say.
He grins at me, and I can’t help swooping in to kiss him. Which could be weird because we’re halfway through a treasure hunt, so it can’t progress to anything, and none of his colleagues are around for it to provide evidence for our fake relationship.
But nothing feels weird about kissing him anymore.
Instead, I’m kissing him just because I want to. There is nothing better than having Matthew’s lips against mine, having his body pressed against me.
Our kisses have changed over the last few days. They’re not the frantic and furious ones they were to begin with.
This one is gentle and soft.
He sighs against my lips, and when he pulls back, he looks completely kiss-drunk. Kind of like how I feel.
“Uh, I guess we better save the working off animosity stuff until after we’ve won this thing, right?” I say.
He blinks at me a few times. “Right,” he says.
My breathing is coming faster than it should as we open theenvelope to get our next clue, which sends us hurtling toward the restaurant.
But as we race through the resort, I’m not focused on navigating the fastest track so we can win the treasure hunt.
Instead, my mind is full of Matthew.
Why can’t I stop wanting to kiss him? Why does this feel like so much more than two guys just hooking up?
We go through the restaurant challenge without a hitch, somehow combining to guess the five mystery ingredients in the dish.
We share triumphant smiles at the end, and I realize this is what’s messing with me. Because this thing with Matthew doesn’t just feel like a connection in the bedroom. Underneath all our quips at each other’s expense, something else is present. Some kind of weird…compatibility.
Which is literally the last word I ever thought I’d use to describe Matthew O’Connor and me.
The hot sexual chemistry I get, and okay, it might be more intense than anything I’ve had before, but that could just be due to the extreme emotions that have always existed between us.
It’s this connection out of the bedroom that’s really spinning my head.
Unfortunately, we lose our way while heading to the small cove with the palm trees where the buried treasure awaits, so when we finally arrive, Paul and Annette are already there, halfway through digging a hole.
Damn their superior orienteering skills.
Matthew’s shoulders slump.
“It’s not over yet, baby,” I say. “You know how good I am at finding the treasure spot in tight holes.”
Matthew just shakes his head wordlessly at me. It’s like he’sbeen rendered dumbstruck at my immense sense of humor. I’m not sure if it’s in a good or bad way though.
I pull out the clue and read it.
Seek the tallest tropical sentinel and head four paces toward the water from the crest.
Then two to the left and dig to reveal the treasure’s nest.
“The tallest tropical sentinel has to be the tallest palm tree, so it’s four paces toward the water, then two paces to the left,” Matthew says.
I don’t have time to marvel yet again at Matthew’s brain because we’re busy treading out the instructions. Then it’s time to dig.
