Page 34 of Moonlighter

“Later, dumbass.”

And people say I’m not very cuddly.

I set my phone to wake me up in twenty minutes, and then I take a catnap on the beach.

My dayof leisure ends abruptly at six, when Alex tries to remove my copy ofSports Illustratedfrom my hands.

But I have fast reflexes. I catch her manicured hand just as it closes around the pages. “No way,” I argue. “I’m right in the middle of this article.”

“The cocktail party is already starting, and I want to be there in half an hour.”

“So?” I hold tightly to my magazine. “It’s a ten minute walk to the other hotel. That means I still have fifteen minutes to sit here.”

“You’re not dressed. You need a blazer and tie for this.”

“Yeah, I allocated five minutes for getting dressed.” I close the magazine and look up. And that’s a mistake, because I almost swallow my tongue. Alex is wearing a halter dress that seems to offer her breasts to me like gourmet treats on a buffet table.

“What?” she says, and I realize I’m staring. “Is it too much?”

“No!” I say quickly, because I’m not an idiot.

“Really—am I bursting out of here?” She lifts her hands andcups her breasts. “Nothing quite fits me right now. But this dress has a fit-and-flare shape, so it covers up my expanding ass.”

My mouth is suddenly dry. The sight of Alex touching herself—however briefly—is going to live on in my dirtiest dreams, I just know it. “You look great,” I rasp. “’Scuse me. I better…” I get up from the sofa and head into the bedroom.

I have got to get a hold of myself.

Putting on a suit ought to do the trick, though. Who wants to wear a tie in Hawaii? In fact, fuck the tie. If I’m supposed to be her bad boy arm candy, I can buck convention. I’m skipping the tie. And I’m not shaving, either. Three days worth of scruff is a good look on me.

I put on a linen jacket over dark jeans and a white shirt, open at the neck. When I check the mirror, I see a guy looking sharp, and a little more dangerous than a tech executive. I grin at my reflection. Who knew acting could be so fun?

When I walk into the living room, I find Alex standing in front of a full-length mirror, fussing with her hair. She turns around, and my pulse kicks up a notch.

“You’re staring,” she whispers. “You’re going to make me self-conscious.”

“Why? You look hot in that dress.” It’s just the truth.

She looks down. “I’m not the same shape as I was a few months ago. Jared might notice and wonder why.”

“No way. That’s not how men work,” I point out. “When he looks at you, there’s no chance his brain says”—I deliver this next part in a weird, nerdy voice—“she looks curvier, in a way that indicates early pregnancy.”

“No?” She smiles.

“Not a chance. He’ll take one look at you, and his brain will start melting. Ask me how I know.”

She rolls her eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Flattery.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true. Now, let’s go. If I’m wearing a suit jacket, I deserve a drink.”

“Fine.” She takes one more glance at herself in the mirror. “I’ll grab my bag.”

The walkto the other hotel takes longer than it should because Alex is wearing heels and the flagstone path between the properties is somewhat uneven.

“If I were a dick, I’d challenge you to a race. First one there gets a cookie.”

Alex stops in her tracks. “That sounds familiar.”

“It should. You pulled that same stunt on me on the Vineyard.”