kitchen.”
“Hmmph.”
Being with Del anywhere was like taking a supposedly harmless party pill—the buzz seemed innocent at first, then suddenly you were dancing naked on a table top, shaking your tail feather.
Shaye turned her back on the beach and leaned on the railing. She should go—return to her DVD collection and Kindle, and just forget about standing in the moonlight with Del Westlake.
Instead, she blurted, “Why was being your wedding date part of the bet?”
He huffed out a laugh. “It doesn’t matter; you cleaned the floor with me. Lesson learned.”
She shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets, ran her thumb around and around the grooved flashlight handle. “It matters. Saying something like that in front of my family and friends means they’ll never forget it.”
“Maybe I want you as my date.”
She snorted. “You don’t even like me.”
“Not particularly. You’re a bit of a princess.”
Of all the —“I should roast your balls and feed them to West’s dog. I’m not a princess.”
“However, I like you much better when you talk dirty.”
“God. You’re such a…such a…” She reined in a long list of colorful phrases and settled for, “ Jerk .”
“Guilty.”
She gritted her teeth. “You asked me because we’re both part of the wedding. It’s sensible.”
“I don’t do things just because they’re sensible.”
“What’s your reason?”
One second Del stood beside her all moody and mysterious, and the next, his hands gripped the railing on either side of her hips. He moved fast—fast enough that she made an embarrassing little eep-ish squawk. Nowhere to go unless she became flexible enough to do a flip over the wooden railing.
Shaye yanked her hands from her pockets and gave his chest a shove. “Back off.”
Even after she added her sous chef do it now or die glare, he stayed, big and bad and way too close. He continued watching her with dark and unreadable eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly as he breathed.
Her hands didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t put them back on those two hard pecs, since every single nerve-ending had soaked up the heat burning through Del’s shirt and transmitted swoony, oh yeah sighs into her brain.
Stupid nerve-endings. Stupid brain.
She wriggled her bottom, so she half sat on the railing, arching away from him. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you the reason.”
The rough timbre of his voice stroked over her. Wickedly dark, decadently rich, scarily addictive. Like chocolate, the quality stuff made of eighty percent pure cacao.
He leaned forward, his face level with hers. “It’s a compelling reason.”
Shaye’s hand shot out to grip his biceps—that or topple backward—but God, he felt amazing. All hard, sinewy muscle and why the hell couldn’t she unhook her fingers?
Her breathing hitched, high and ragged. “My sister’s a cop, and I know how to defend myself.”
“So, show me your ninja moves.”
“Daring a cornered woman to hurt you isn’t very bright.”
One of his hands rasped off the wooden railing and touched the end of her ponytail. He selected a strand and stroked it down her jaw. Shaye licked her lips, unable to suck her gaze from his mouth, which angled closer. Close enough that she could tell the flavor of the last handful of potato chips he’d eaten.
Salt and vinegar. Her favorite.
She strained upward to see if he tasted as good as he smelled… Freaking hell —
Shaye reared back a little, hair slipping from his fingers, her chin narrowly missing his. “Are you going to kiss me?”
Her heart gave a little bunny-hop at the thought and leaped around her ribs.
“Not unless you ask real nice.”
“Ask you?” There was that damn smirk of his again. She should’ve guessed he was playing with her. “When pigs fly.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but the smile didn’t falter. “Now you’ll have to say, ‘Please, Del. With a cherry on top.’”
“I’d jam that cherry up
“Hmmph.”
Being with Del anywhere was like taking a supposedly harmless party pill—the buzz seemed innocent at first, then suddenly you were dancing naked on a table top, shaking your tail feather.
Shaye turned her back on the beach and leaned on the railing. She should go—return to her DVD collection and Kindle, and just forget about standing in the moonlight with Del Westlake.
Instead, she blurted, “Why was being your wedding date part of the bet?”
He huffed out a laugh. “It doesn’t matter; you cleaned the floor with me. Lesson learned.”
She shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets, ran her thumb around and around the grooved flashlight handle. “It matters. Saying something like that in front of my family and friends means they’ll never forget it.”
“Maybe I want you as my date.”
She snorted. “You don’t even like me.”
“Not particularly. You’re a bit of a princess.”
Of all the —“I should roast your balls and feed them to West’s dog. I’m not a princess.”
“However, I like you much better when you talk dirty.”
“God. You’re such a…such a…” She reined in a long list of colorful phrases and settled for, “ Jerk .”
“Guilty.”
She gritted her teeth. “You asked me because we’re both part of the wedding. It’s sensible.”
“I don’t do things just because they’re sensible.”
“What’s your reason?”
One second Del stood beside her all moody and mysterious, and the next, his hands gripped the railing on either side of her hips. He moved fast—fast enough that she made an embarrassing little eep-ish squawk. Nowhere to go unless she became flexible enough to do a flip over the wooden railing.
Shaye yanked her hands from her pockets and gave his chest a shove. “Back off.”
Even after she added her sous chef do it now or die glare, he stayed, big and bad and way too close. He continued watching her with dark and unreadable eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly as he breathed.
Her hands didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t put them back on those two hard pecs, since every single nerve-ending had soaked up the heat burning through Del’s shirt and transmitted swoony, oh yeah sighs into her brain.
Stupid nerve-endings. Stupid brain.
She wriggled her bottom, so she half sat on the railing, arching away from him. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you the reason.”
The rough timbre of his voice stroked over her. Wickedly dark, decadently rich, scarily addictive. Like chocolate, the quality stuff made of eighty percent pure cacao.
He leaned forward, his face level with hers. “It’s a compelling reason.”
Shaye’s hand shot out to grip his biceps—that or topple backward—but God, he felt amazing. All hard, sinewy muscle and why the hell couldn’t she unhook her fingers?
Her breathing hitched, high and ragged. “My sister’s a cop, and I know how to defend myself.”
“So, show me your ninja moves.”
“Daring a cornered woman to hurt you isn’t very bright.”
One of his hands rasped off the wooden railing and touched the end of her ponytail. He selected a strand and stroked it down her jaw. Shaye licked her lips, unable to suck her gaze from his mouth, which angled closer. Close enough that she could tell the flavor of the last handful of potato chips he’d eaten.
Salt and vinegar. Her favorite.
She strained upward to see if he tasted as good as he smelled… Freaking hell —
Shaye reared back a little, hair slipping from his fingers, her chin narrowly missing his. “Are you going to kiss me?”
Her heart gave a little bunny-hop at the thought and leaped around her ribs.
“Not unless you ask real nice.”
“Ask you?” There was that damn smirk of his again. She should’ve guessed he was playing with her. “When pigs fly.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but the smile didn’t falter. “Now you’ll have to say, ‘Please, Del. With a cherry on top.’”
“I’d jam that cherry up
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