“Friends like you and Donna are friends?”
The question—and the imagery that came with it—caused renewed movement behind his fly. Don’t get a boner. Don’t get a boner.
He opened his mouth, but she must’ve read the look on his face. Before he could say anything, she blurted out, “Okay, I’ll agree to be friends, just friends, if you’ll agree to do one of the following two things.”
Girding himself, he grunted for her to continue.
“Option one”—up went her finger again; Alex talked with her hands so much he was surprised he didn’t get motion sickness watching them—“you tell me why you don’t want to get remarried or have a family.”
“What’s the other option?” he asked, embarrassed to admit that his teammates seemed to have no problem going from SEALs to civilians, but he was forever changed by his life in the navy.
It was an innate weakness in him. A deficiency. One he’d just as soon keep to himself.
“Option two.” Up went a second finger. In that moment, with her hair falling around her shoulders, and the breeze from the open window playing with the ends of her curls, she’d never looked more tempting. “Kiss me.”
“What?” he choked. “Why?”
“Because you said you and Donna aren’t exclusive and I—”
He shook his head, cutting her off. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. The answer is no.”
“Which means you’ve chosen option one. So spill.”
He felt trapped. Desperate. There had to be a third option, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of it. She turned his brain to mush.
“Why would you wanna kiss me?” His voice was so low and harsh it sounded like someone stood on his throat. He felt like someone stood on his throat.
“I want to do a lot more than kiss you. But I think a kiss is a good compromise. Neither of us will get everything we’re after, but both of us will get something we want. I’ll get to see what it’s like to taste you, which I’ve been wanting to do since day one. And afterward, you’ll go on your merry way and I’ll never proposition you again.”
He shook his head the whole time she was talking. Now, he put words to the gesture. Granted, they weren’t terribly intelligible words. But they were words. And that was saying something considering…she wanted to taste him?
For fuck’s sake! Who says stuff like that?
Alex.
Alex, that’s who.
“No. That’s just… I just… I can’t,” he managed.
She tilted her head. It made one long curl come to rest in the dark hollow between her robe’s lapels. “So were you lying when you said you thought I was off-the-charts fuckable? If you don’t like me like that, if you don’t want me like that, I wish you’d—”
“I like you like that, Alex!” he roared so she’d shut up. Her words were coming so hard and fast he could. Not. Think.
She blinked. “You do?”
“Yes.”
She broke into a happy dance while sitting on the end of the bed. An actual happy dance. And all her gyrating and twisting and finger-gun shooting caused her robe to fall open above the belt.
He was suddenly witness to the creamy inner curves of her breasts and an expanse of lickable skin that stretched from her neck all the way down to her navel.
Is she naked under there?
It was a good thing he was still seated. Otherwise, his legs would’ve given out on him and his ass would’ve been on the floor.
From somewhere, he wasn’t sure where, he found the strength to say, “Stop it.” When she didn’t, he hitched his chin toward her gaping robe and added breathlessly, “If you don’t stop, you’ll be stark naked in two seconds.”
Not that he would mind.
Or maybe he would. Because how the hell would he ever withstand her advances if she was wearing nothing but God’s pajamas?
“What?” She glanced down. “Oh!” Blushing slightly, she pulled the halves of her robe together and tugged the belt tight.
He was able to breathe again. There was no hope for his raging hard-on, however. The thing had a mind of its own, and that mind kept replaying the sight of all that skin and that exquisite little belly button that was a perfect oval and just the right size for the tip of a man’s tongue.
She shot one of her finger guns at his nose and grinned in triumph. “To steal a line from Gracie Hart, Sandra Bullock’s character in Miss Congeniality, ‘You think I’m gorgeous. You want to kiss me. You want to hug me. You want to—’”
Jesus H. Christ. This was his greatest fantasy and biggest nightmare rolled into one. Alex, being all demanding and adorable. Him, knowing he had to resist her but not having the first clue how he was supposed to accomplish that.
“Anyone ever told you you’re forthright to a fault?” he wheezed, his heart trying its best to beat its way out of his chest. Undoubtedly in a bid to get closer to her.
“Sure.” She shrugged unconcernedly. “All the time. But I take issue with it because how can forthrightness ever be considered a fault?”
He pinned his hardest scowl on her and pushed up from the desk chair. He’d found it! Option three! “Gotta go.”
Unfortunately, his injury slowed him down and Alex beat him to the door. She stood with her back against it, her arms and legs spread wide, barring his exit.
He glanced longingly out the window, wondering how badly he’d hurt himself if he jumped.
Broken ankle or leg at the worst. It might be worth it.
“You’re hopeless.” He ran an agitated hand through his hair.
“Nope.” She shook her head. “Shameless, maybe. But never hopeless. Now, choose. Option one or option two?”
“You got no idea the position you’re putting me in,” he mumbled.
“Sure I do. If I can’t put you in the missionary position, then I’ll settle for this one. Option one or option two?”
Something broke inside him. His restraint? Certainly. His ability to think? Most definitely.
With a growl of…what? Impatience? Defeat? Who the fuck knew?…he stomped toward her. As he closed the distance, she became his entire world. Or maybe she’d been that since the moment she landed on Wayfarer Island.
Then he was on her.
She squealed slightly when, with a hand at her waist, he pushed her hard against the door. Stepping close, he eliminated any space between their bodies.