His lips broke into a smile too, and he wasn’t exactly sure what to say, but damn.
“I guess that wouldn’t be sexy to write for the author.” She lifted her shoulders and looked to the ceiling with a playful expression crossing her face. “How about this, ‘After having her third back-to-back orgasm from the Sex God, she hurried to the bathroom to pee so she didn’t get an infection.’ Yeah, I think that’d kill the mood.” She lightly laughed.
But he was hung up on the “third orgasm” part. “Three orgasms, huh?” He lifted the book, hoping his erection would obey his command and go down. He flicked the cover while adding, “Sounds—”
“Impossible for me.” He lost her green eyes to the floor, and some part of his brain wanted to snatch that up as a challenge. “Anyways. I’ll, um, dry my hair out here while you shower since we’re short on time.”
And that reminded him . . . “Gray called. I didn’t want to worry him, so I answered.”
Sydney set the hairdryer on the bed and folded her arms, her gaze cutting to the phone.
“He didn’t seem all that thrilled when I told him you were in the shower and you’d have to call him back.” He went to tip his hat in apology and realized it was gone. Lost to the jungle when they’d been running.
“Who I shower with isn’t his business,” she said, not with bitterness, more like a basic fact. Yet, a touch of blush rose up her cheeks as her eyes slowly walked up the length of his body to find his face. “You know what I mean.”
He nodded, unsure of what to say. She had a past with Gray, and he needed to remember that. “I’ll just shower.” And forget about what I read in that book.
He hadn’t meant for his body to brush against hers while en route to the bathroom, but that slight touch was all it took for his brain to detour back to that sexy scene, and his dick to disobey orders.
Damn it to hell, what was wrong with him? They weren’t two characters in a book, throwing caution to the wind and giving in to their mutual desire. They were real-life people dealing with the real-life cartel in Mexico. And they both had baggage. So, he’d need to flush any idea of multiple-damn-orgasms with this woman down the drain. And pronto.
Sydney was off-limits for a hell of a lot of reasons.
And he reckoned he’d better remind himself of that.
Over. And over. And damn over again.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sydney turned off the hairdryer and set it on the dresser with a thunk as her eyes locked on the reflection in the mirror. Beckett stood in the bathroom doorway, his muscular frame clad in a fluffy white towel that clung perilously low on his hips and revealed those two delicious V-lines.
“I don’t know,” she mused, “I think I may rock the whole topless look better than you.” She chewed on her lower lip with blatant intent, unable to stop herself from toying with him for whatever insane reason. “But I’ll admit, you’re giving me a run for my money.”
Beckett set his palms to the doorframe, his muscles going taut with the action, readying himself to join her in the room. Or trying to hold himself back. “Now, you see . . . no matter what I say next is bound to get me in trouble.”
She arched a curious brow and leaned her hip against the dresser. “Oh really?” Go for it. Get yourself in trouble, was on the tip of her tongue, dying to slip free.
After the day they’d had, she needed to offset the drama with a little humor. Or is this flirting?
“You definitely win in that department.” His voice lowered an octave while he fixed her with a smoldering gaze. So, he’d decided to go for the ballsy answer, admitting he’d enjoyed seeing her topless twice that day.
“Now that we’ve cleared that up,” she said with a smile, “why are you parading around in only a towel?”
And why did it have her heart hammering? Sure, she worked with a group of special operators who were ripped enough to belong on a book cover, but she’d never found herself gawking when they removed their shirts. There was something about Beckett though. His incredible physique gave an entirely new meaning to the term “dad bod,” and she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
“Left my suitcase out here.” With a lift of his chin, he looked toward his luggage sitting by the main door.
Instead of following his gaze, Sydney’s eyes journeyed from the smattering of chest hair on his golden-tan body over to the vein in his left arm that cut down his bicep.
“Oh.” The word was little more than a puff of air as her attention fell to where she swore his dick had just twitched behind that towel, certain he was working up to an impressive hard-on. So . . . he hadn’t taken care of himself in the shower. What the hell, Sydney? Of course, he didn’t jerk off in your shower. “Would you like me to get your bag for you? Wouldn’t want to risk that towel falling off,” she teased while going for his duffel bag.
Beckett remained in place, hands still glued to the interior doorframe of the en suite.
“Thank you,” he muttered through clenched teeth when she dropped the bag just outside the bathroom.
My goodness, Sheriff, what’s got you all worked up? Was it the book? Did it make you as horny as the other one made me last night? But unlike earlier, when she’d caught him absorbed in the romance novel, he wasn’t trying to hide his arousal behind a book. Well, she was pretty sure that was what he’d been doing.
“Do you need help putting your clothes on too? Did you sustain an injury during our jaunt through the jungle I don’t know about?”
A sexy laugh rumbled from his chest and hit her in the solar plexus. “We define jaunt a little differently where I’m from.” His lips tipped into an easy smile that further knocked her off guard as he slid his palms up the doorframe, then pushed away. “In my opinion, that excursion was less than pleasurable.” That deep, husky tone of his was as spine-tingling as his laugh.
Taking a step forward, he stopped and slowly slid his gaze over her body before reaching down for his bag and brazenly tossing her a wink as he did so. Another surprise. Wow, this man.
Then just like that, Beckett stood, retreated to the bathroom, and shut the door before she was able to utter a word in response.
What the hell is wrong with me? She spun away and tried to get a handle on her emotions, which was proving to be difficult around him.
Men, no matter how good-looking, never rendered her speechless.
The sight of shirtless men never caused her panties to become soaked.
And good-looking, shirtless men, even those sporting six-pack abs, sure as hell never caused romance-novel-level butterflies to take flight in her stomach with a mere wink.
Whiskey-tango-foxtrot. Sydney unplugged the hairdryer, deciding to let the rest of her hair air dry. She needed to pack up her stuff so they could get a move on as soon as Beckett was clothed.
She grabbed the cowboy-sheriff romance book from her beach bag and tossed it into her luggage along with the other books from the nightstand. Why on earth had she packed all the ones Savanna had given her? No clue. Even if Beckett and Oliver hadn’t crashed her vacation that morning, she’d never have had time to read them all.
Sydney huffed out an exasperated breath after she finished packing, then zipped her suitcase and set it next to Beckett’s boots by the door.