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He opened the dresser’s top drawer to unload what he’d packed for this trip. Oh, shit . Julia had already filled this drawer with her bras and panties. Silky, satiny, lacy, sheer. Without touching them, he could imagine the textures, like phantoms on his fingertips.

Carson shut the drawer, then gripped the dresser’s edge.

This was fine. They were two adults, splitting a room due to circumstances beyond their control. He hadn’t planned a music festival or plunked a houseguest into her sister’s home.

All the same, he was delighted the universe had worked this out.

This was his chance to prove to Julia he’d outgrown his high school persona.

The man he was today was his authentic self, someone she might like and respect.

Not the guy who froze her out because of his insecurities, which his therapist at Cal State helped him see were rooted in the fucked-up dynamic he’d had with his mother.

Ah, mommy issues. Always super sexy.

“About the concierge,” Julia said.

He jumped. Jesus, she snuck around like a jewel thief in a heist movie.

“Oh, sorry.” She laughed as she smoothed lotion along her arms. “Did I startle you?”

His heart knocked against his chest. “Yes, but it’s fine.”

As she sat on her bed, a coconut-and-pineapple scent wafted from her. Great. She smelled like pina coladas. And getting lost in the rain. She might’ve been into yoga and definitely had more than half a brain.

Wonder if she liked making love at midnight?

Stop that. Damn his dad’s yacht-rock obsession.

“What about the concierge?” he asked.

“We should have a code word. In case one of us wants to, um…” She shifted her gaze back and forth. “Bring a guest back to the room.”

“Julia Stone, are you carving time from your schedule for a hookup?”

She finished with the lotion, and God, he’d love to lick a trail up her pale arm, linger on her neck, then land on her cherry lips. Bet she tasted like a maraschino dipped in whipped cream.

With a sigh, she said. “In my experience, the hookups don’t take much time.”

“That’s awful. I have so many follow-up questions.” He dropped onto his bed. The lamps embedded into their headboards draped them in stark shadows.

“We’re on vacation and might enjoy…company,” she said. “We should be prepared.”

Jealously clenched his gut.

“Don’t be weird,” she said. “You were all heart eyes at the concierge.”

“You keep saying that and are so wrong, which makes me wonder if anyone’s ever properly looked at you .”

He gave her his best smolder.

She snapped off her light. “I know what heart eyes are, buster.”

Buster? Where did she learn to talk like this?

She flipped back the covers and slid between them. “My suggestion is practical. It totally kills the mood when you have to be Captain Obvious.” She dropped her voice an octave. “Hey, Julia, this person and I want to boink. Can I have the room?”

She was ridiculous.

“Is that supposed to be me? I promise I’d figure out a more artful way of describing the circumstances. I’d never involve the word ‘boink.’”

“Good for you. I still recommend a code word, something you can casually work into conversation. Celebrities worked best for me and my roommates because you can always reference a movie or a concert. How about Beyoncé?”

“Veto. I don’t casually discuss Beyoncé. How about Danny DeVito?”

Her body quaked with laughter. “Veto, for the same reason. I adore him, but in a lusty moment, do you want to invoke Danny DeVito?”

No, but if she were enjoying a lusty moment with a vacation hookup, he’d want to splash as much mental ice water on that situation as possible.

She snapped her fingers. “How about Paramore? It works on two levels—the band and the synonym for lover . Efficient.”

“Paramore it is.” He made sure his phone was plugged in, then snapped off his light. “Are you really okay? You seemed upset earlier.”

She shuffled in her sheets for a moment, then, finally…

“I was, but I’m better now. I was mostly upset that Alex is getting married.” She sighed. “Wait, that didn’t come out right. I’m thrilled for her, but I had no idea she and Bo were ready to take the plunge. Being out of the loop hurt my feelings.”

They sure seemed like an incredibly happy couple. “How long have they been together?”

“Only six months. It’s not like they knew each other their whole lives and light bulbs suddenly popped on, so it’s fast.”

He felt that one in his gut. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. She was his tour guide for an insane trip that went sideways six different ways. They hated each other, which was a cover for wild attraction, and then they boinked, and then they fought again. But he saved some artifacts from the auction block, which is Alex’s catnip, and chased her across the country to give them to her. The showy grand gesture won her over.”

“Not your style, I take it?” The dark made it easier to ask questions. It hid his desperation to learn everything about what appealed to Julia Stone.

“Grand gestures are great for fiction, but they aren’t realistic.

Me, I prefer lots of smaller gestures. Consistency, reliability, awareness…

Swoon with a capital S . I’d rather someone make my coffee for me every day, pick up my favorite sweet at the bakery, make reservations at my favorite restaurant… Things like that are my catnip.”

Holy shit.

Most people didn’t hand you an instruction manual like that.

“From where I sit, you and your sister seem pretty close.”

“Not the way we used to be, and this space between us bums me out.”

Despite the confessional feeling the darkness loaned the room, she was downplaying her hurt. Why? Because she didn’t trust him enough to be vulnerable? He couldn’t blame her, but he’d keep building that bridge.

He propped his head on his fist. “Can I ask you one more question?”

“You just did.” Rumpling indicated she’d snuggled into the bed’s downy softness.

He imagined her smooth skin under the blankets, sneaking his hand under her T-shirt…

“Oh my God, ask already so I can go to sleep.”

Right. The question. “How many times did you Beyoncé your roommates?”

Through a yawn, she said, “Five, maybe six times.”

He wished he hadn’t asked, because now he couldn’t stop picturing Julia in the throes of passion.

As he tried—and failed—to squash those images, Julia’s breathing deepened and steadied.

In the dark, he smiled. She made these soft little contented sighs as she dropped off to sleep.

If only she could be this unguarded in her waking life. Maybe he could help with that, too.

Also, she was a liar.

Because she definitely snored.