“What do you want?” I mumbled into the phone.

“I just got back to the room. I know your prude ass can’t be shacking up with that delicious piece of man you left with last night.”

“I can’t talk right now.”

“You know wheels are going up in three hours.”

“Then you should get some more beauty rest.”

A snort. The beginning of some lecture. I hung up the phone, locked it and tossed it onto the floor in the direction of my purse, before rolling toward Brett and closing my eyes. I tried to memorize the look of him in morning shadows. It’s a good look. Way too good of a look. “I’ve got to go back to my room.”

“No you don’t.” He bent over, pressing a kiss on my collarbone. Pulled at the sheet, and revealed a breast. He exhaled, moved his mouth to that spot with soft kisses until I pushed him off. Cuddled into the crook of his shoulder. Rested my head on him when he laid back against the pillows.

“I have to go back home.”

“When?” The word vibrated through his chest, and I rolled closer into him. Ran my hand over his chest.

“One. Which means I need to pack, and shower...”

“...and eat breakfast.”

I looked up. “Maybe.”

“I’ve been told that I’m excellent at ordering room service.”

“I’ve been told that I’m excellent at eating it.”

***

We ate on the bed like kids, cross-legged, cartoons on the TV, trays on the crumpled sheets before us. I leaned over, swigged a generous swallow of mimosa from the flute and then returned it to the bedside table. “So ... Mister...” I tilted my head at him. “I don’t know your last name.”

He scowled. Brought a forkful of omelet to his mouth and chewed thoroughly before swallowing, the clench of his jaw as he ate drawing my attention to the strong curves of his face, the way dark stubble made the green of his eyes pop. The gulp of his throat was, in itself, somehow sexy. “Jacobs.”

“Jacobs. Why the Bahamas, Mr. Jacobs?”

“Isn’t that a question you should have asked me before you...”

I raised my eyebrows as he struggled for words. “Before I what?”

He met my playful gaze. “Trusted me with your body.”

I shrugged. “Jena has your business card. She makes a practice of digging into every aspect of my life. I’m sure she has your blood type and latest draft of your résumé by this point. She hasn’t called to warn me of anything, so I think my body is safe in your hands.”

When his eyes darkened, they became hunter green. A heart-stopping change. Intensity looked incredible on this man. “I fish.”

My eyes picked up on his tan, the flex of his forearms as he reached forward and snagged a piece of toast. I suddenly wanted to see him on the deck of a boat, wearing only swim trunks. The flex of his muscles as he battled a fish. The break of his smile when he caught a prize. I’d never seen him during the day. When the sun reflected in those eyes. I looked down, scooped up a spoonful of grits, and brought them to my mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. Looked back to find him watching me.

“Have you caught anything this trip?”

His mouth twitched. “Been too busy with a certain blonde to get any time in.”

“Ahhh ... sure. Blame your bad luck on me.” I shot him a look he found humorous, his mouth splitting into an easy grin.

I was digging out grapes from the fruit bowl when he spoke. “Stay a few more days with me.”

I paused my quest for red ones. “I can’t. I have work tomorrow.” As I spoke the words I realized how out of character they were for me. Blaming work instead of the fact that staying here, with a stranger, was foolhardy. How strange that I wanted to stay. The warm buzz, the state of euphoria that seemed to accompany every moment in this man’s presence ... it was a high I hadn’t experienced in a long time. New love. Love that—at previous interactions—skipped along on its merry way after a few weeks. My last experience with this heady, butterflies in my tummy, elation in my heart feeling was ... high school? Back when I had fresh, unwounded eyes. Before I realized the selfishness and deceit that we, as adults, hold. The ugly truths of life that pull apart love and make our relationships obligation-centers that carry us from year to year, transition to transition.

“What do you do?”

His question brought me back. I popped an elusive red grape in my mouth before answering. “I’m a financial advisor. I work at a local bank in a town called Quincy.”

“Why Quincy?”

I shrugged. “It’s my hometown. After college I spent a few years in Athens with a guy I was dating. When that ended ... I didn’t really have anywhere else to go. Didn’t want to stay in Athens. So I came home.” The super exciting story of my life. I changed the focus of the conversation. “What about you?”

He leaned back. “Fort Lauderdale. The bank can’t do without you for a few days?”

I shook my head. “Nope. Why Fort Lauderdale? What do you do there?”

“I sell boats.”

God, this guy was a regular chatterbox. I let my eyes float over the suite, the dining room table we seemed more likely to fuck on, the watch draped over his wallet, a brand I didn’t recognize, but one I could guarantee was worth what I made in a year. “You sell boats.”

He chuckled. “Yes.” He slid over, pushing his tray forward, so close to the edge of the bed that I watched it nervously, my attention redirected when his lips closed over my neck. “Stop thinking,” he whispered, taking another taste of my neck, this one more aggressive, one that would probably leave a hickey. Super classy, Riley. My mother would be thrilled. I closed my eyes. Leaned into his mouth. Let his arms slide my body up the bed and roll me atop him.