Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 94579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
“Find anything interesting?”
Not really. Nothing shocking or embarrassing. No skeletons hiding inside, from what I can see.
When I turn, my insatiable eyes skim his torso; my brain wants to straddle him again, but my body cooperates, deciding to exercise a little self-control.
Cool it, Scarlett—his parents are downstairs, for crying out loud.
Quiet but for the sound of our breathing, my feet tread across his plush beige carpet, breaking up the silence. I clasp my hands behind my back.
“It sounds like my parents might be back.” His sexy, relaxed posture kicks up the butterflies in my stomach. “I’ll run down and tell them we’re definitely going.”
My teeth worry my bottom lip, but I can’t suppress the smile. “If you don’t mind, I’m going t0 get ready for bed.”
He nods.
“It’s going to be an early morning—we have a two-hour drive to the cruise port, then we can spend the afternoon exploring the ship before it leaves the dock.”
Nervous and excited, sick to my stomach and elated, all at the same time. Sighing, I retrieve some clean underwear from my suitcase, pajama bottoms and top, following behind him halfway down the hall.
Toward the bathroom I roam, engrossed with Rowdy’s broad shoulders as they flex. Fixated on the back of his sexy, corded neck. I find it impossible to tear my gaze off the bare skin above the collar of his shirt, eyes trailing him until he’s out of view, down the stairs.
To me, it’s the sexist part of a man—the delicious slope at the back of their neck where their shoulders meet.
I love everything about that spot on his body, the straining muscles of his trapezius and deltoids. The freshly trimmed hair at Rowdy’s nape. The tight fit of his dark shirt and the promise that its fabric would be velvety soft beneath my fingers if I had the nerve to caress it. Or hook the tip of one finger inside his collar and trail it along his warm skin.
I want to plow my hands through his neatly shorn mop. Run my palms down his smooth shoulder blades slowly. Daydream about it while the mirrors in his bathroom fog from shower steam and I scrub myself clean under the spray of Sterling Wade’s shower.
Lifting his red bottle of liquid body gel from the shelf, I snap the top open, inhaling the masculine scent. Mmm, I get to curl up with him later and do whatever I want to him.
The thought sends my stomach surging into a dramatic roll, nerves causing me to snap the bottle shut. Concentrate on my task, scrubbing myself clean. Wash, rinse, repeat.
Smooth a bar of Dove soap over my breasts and between the apex of my thighs. I lather up my legs, my calves. Run a blue disposable razor slowly up the length of each one until all the hair is sliced off. Stroke my hands up and down, rinsing away the suds.
Shave between my legs.
Clean.
Smooth.
I dry off with a big, gray towel, patting it along my damp skin, humidity moistening my flesh. Slide on my underwear. Pull on tank top and sleep shorts.
Go through my regular bathroom routine: lotion, moisturizer, body spray.
Pad down the hall when I’ve finished in the bathroom, Rowdy’s room empty when I give a little tap and push the door open.
Bite down on my lip, debating.
Loathe to sit here by myself with only nervous energy for company while he sits downstairs with his parents, I rifle through my suitcase and find the one sweatshirt I packed, yanking it over my wet tresses.
I’m heading down the back stairs when the sound of his mother’s voice gives me pause at the bottom step, foot poised to continue.
“Where is Scarlett, sweetie?” Mrs. Wade asks.
“In the shower. Then I’ll just meet her in bed
“Whose bed?” His mother’s good-natured laugh makes me blush a bright, cherry red.
“Haha, very funny. Mine.” He’s shameless. “We couldn’t find any sheets to fit the bed in the spare bedroom and we looked all over. Are you sure you want us sharing a bed?”
“Dammit.” She hmphs. “Those sheets are probably still folded up in the laundry room—you know how I get when I’m on a deadline. I’m too tired to go check, so no funny business under this roof, okay? We’re trusting you.”
Rowdy sighs. “Mom, we’re going on vacation tomorrow and you’re sticking us in a private room for two nights.”
“Because you’re not a teenager anymore. I don’t want to trust you—I have to trust you. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to be listening for strange noises tonight.”
“Oh my god, Mom.”
She clicks her tongue. “What happens on the high seas stays on the high seas—as long as what happens doesn’t come back to haunt us in nine months. Ha.”
He isn’t amused. “Do you honestly think you’re being funny?”
“Yes, I honestly think I’m being funny.” She titters. “It’s my job as your mother to humiliate you and make you uncomfortable as long as I roam this earth.”