Page 84 of Faking the Pass
I slid from the bed and skittered toward the bathroom, not looking back at him.
“Good morning,” I tossed over my shoulder. “I call first shower.”
When I emerged from the bedroom, clean and dressed and onlyslightlystill thinking about my surprising wakeup call, Presley was coming inside through the slider between the living room and the outdoors.
He’d clearly been swimming because he was wearing a pair of trunks—and nothing else. His hair was wet.
And so was his body.
Droplets of water decorated his wide, muscular chest and slid down over a set of abdominal muscles so perfectly sculpted I wanted to touch them to confirm they were actually real.
Who was I kidding? I just wanted to touch them.
He stopped when he saw me, his eyes roaming in a quick inspection of my outfit, a white, belted romper with a plunging v-neck.
“That might be a little overboard for island-casual,” he drawled, but his expression said he approved.
“Jessica packed my bags, remember?” I protested. “Besides, most of what I had with me at your house were clothes for my honeymoon with Randy. We were supposed to stay at a resort in the south of France.”
Unfortunately, this was the most full-coverage ensemble I had. The other outfits were even skimpier.
Presley lifted his towel to dry his face then scrub his hair.
The motion drew my eyes down his body over his muscular chest and ridiculously defined abdomen directly to the V-lines that marked the area above his hips.
Not only did Randynothave a Great White shark in his pants (more like a guppy) his torso didn’t feature anything resembling V-lines.
In fact, I’d never been this close in person to such a fit human being. It was a little disconcerting.
“Sorry you had to miss out on that,” Presley said as he strolled into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
Now I got a glorious view of his back, which was at least as muscular and impressive as the front.
“I’m not. This place is better,” I told him honestly. “If you have to go on a forced honeymoon, at least have a gorgeous view.”
Gulping, I corrected myself quickly. “Of the water, I mean. And palm trees. The viewoutside.”
Presley turned around to face me, grinning in a knowing way. “Yeah, it’s hard to beat the scenery.”
His gaze fell to my cleavage for a half-second before he looked down at the food he’d removed from the refrigerator. He didn’t look up again for a while as he focused on shaving a block of cheese into thin slices with a cheese slicer.
“How long has Wilder had this house?” I asked, watching his big hands work. “Does he really own the whole island?”
Presley glanced up momentarily, frowning. “It’s not that big a deal. It’s a small island, and islands in Indonesia aren’t as expensive as you’d think. There are around eighteen thousand of them, and only about six thousand are inhabited. Plus, the U.S. dollar goes a long way here.”
I was surprised not only by the new information but also by Presley’s odd reaction to my question. He looked and sounded annoyed by my interest in his brother’s vacation home.
“I’m sorry if that was an inappropriate question,” I said. “I was just curious. I’ve never been on a private island.”
Presley’s eyes flicked up, and he looked at me beneath lowered brows. “Sorry. I guess I’m a little sensitive. Wilder’s kind of a hard act to follow, you know?”
Oh.I was starting to understand Presley’s relentless drive to succeed, why he denied himself basic pleasures and even rest.
Whether he wanted to or not, he felt like he was in competition with Wilder, trying to live up to his much-admired older brother’s many accomplishments.
I nodded, and he went on.
“My parents said they used to refer to me as ‘little me-too’ because I used to follow Wild around, trying to copy everything he did. He was so good at everything.”
