Page 52 of Moonlighter

Holy cow. That escalated quickly.

Just when I’m settling into the idea of missing our dinner date for an energetic bedroom workout, she jerks back again. “We have areservation. In half an hour,” she clarifies breathlessly.

“Oh, well,” I say quietly. There are drops of water clinging to her cleavage, and I want to lick them off. “I’d hate to keep the hostess at some restaurant waiting.”

When she smiles, I kiss her again. And again. I thought about her entirely too much today. A man’s mind wanders when he’s bench-pressing almost twice his weight and sweating like an ox.

Our kisses are deep and hungry. And I’m guessing Alex had some inappropriate thoughts of her own between meetings. Or during. This bodes well for my evening, but I pull back, anyway, giving her a grin that I’ve been told is slightly obnoxious. “Better change your dress, then.”

She blinks. “You are such a jerk.”

“Am not.”

“Are so.”

I just smile because I’ve made everything more fun. Tonight we’ll be dining on fine Hawaiian cuisine with a side of potent anticipation. And when the payoff comes, it will be twice as sweet.

“Go on now,” I say, setting her onto the side of the pool. “You’d better go do whatever it is you do with all those products on the bathroom counter.”

She gives me an arch look but doesn’t complain. Rising to her feet, she moves with dignity even while dripping wet.

“I’m a gentleman, so you can use my dry towel,” I add, just to be an ass.

“Sucha gentleman,” she grumbles, grabbing the towel and doing her best to stop her dress from dripping everywhere.

I climb out of the pool, and she tosses me the wet towel before heading inside to get dibs on the master bathroom. But do I get a parting glare that makes me chuckle.

I’m still smiling as I head inside myself a few minutes later. But I stop short of the bedroom because I hear a knock on the hotel suite door.

“Yeah?” I call out. But there’s no answer, except for another knock.

Alex peers out of the bedroom, her face wary, and I wave her back. Then I step over to the peephole and take a look into the hallway. And he’s standing right there—Tatum, her ex. He doesn’t look any more appealing through the fisheye lens than he did last time I saw him.

I yank the door open all the way but block it with my body. “And here I thought you and I didn’t really hit it off last night. Now you want to be friends?”

He scowls. “I need to speak with Alex for a moment.”

“She’s in the shower.”

“I’ll wait.”

I sigh. “No, you won’t.”

“That’s not your decision.”

It is, but I don’t argue the point. “Seriously, have you met Alex? If she wanted to speak with you, it wouldn’t matter what I think. She’d be returning your calls.”

His jaw tenses, and I can see that I’ve made my point. “Still, I just need to give her something.”

“What is it?”

“Agift,asshole.” He shows me a small gift bag in his hand. “It’s a fitness band—the kind that my company makes. Alex told me once that my product wasn’t designed well for women. And I told her she was wrong.”

I manage to withhold my surprise.

With his free hand, Mr. Douchewaffle scrubs his forehead. “But after I thought it over some more, I hired a female designer who said all the same things that Alex did.” He offers me the bag. “Here. I want her to know that I listened.”

“Too late, though?” I press.