Page 80 of Playing Dirty
My throat went dry. For half a heartbeat, I just stared at her—the robe, the grin, the absolute nerve. “Lilly…” My voice came out rougher than I meant. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Good,” she whispered, stepping past me before I could stop her. “I like fire.”
The door clicked shut behind her, sealing us into the hush of the cabin. She stood there, close enough I could smell the citrus in her shampoo, droplets still clinging to her collarbone.
All week I’d told myself she was just loosening up because of the rum, the sun, the ship. That back in Lovelace, she’d put the wall right back up and keep me at arm’s length again. But standing there, robe slipping off one shoulder, eyes steady on mine, I knew better.
She hadn’t just loosened up this week. She’d finally stopped running from what had been between us all along.
And God help me, I wasn’t running either.
For a second, neither of us moved. Just the low hum of the engines and the sound of my own pulse hammering in my ears. Lilly stood there like she had all the time in the world, daring me with her silence.
“You’ve been driving me crazy all week,” I muttered.
Her smile curved slowly. “That’s half the fun.”
“You think this is fun?” I stepped closer, close enough that her damp hair brushed my forearm. “You’ve been dangling matches in front of a man who already knows he’s sitting on dynamite.”
She tilted her chin, eyes locking on mine. “Then light the fuse, cowboy.”
I caught her waist, pulled her flush against me, and kissed her like I’d been holding back for months. Because I had, her laugh broke against my mouth before turning into a gasp, and then she melted into me, fingers clawing at my shirt like she couldn’t get close enough.
Her robe loosened under my hands, the belt tugged free as if it had been waiting for this moment. The soft slide of fabric hit the floor, leaving nothing between us but heat and want. I drew back just enough to look at her, chest rising, eyes dark with that same defiance she always carried—but this time there was no wall. No distance.
“Sweetheart,” I whispered, thumb brushing her jaw, “you have no idea what you’ve just started.”
She smirked, tugging me toward the bed. “Then show me.”
I didn’t need more encouragement. Sandals hit the floor, my shorts followed, and then her hands were everywhere—skimming muscle, testing scars, pulling me down with her as the mattress dipped under our weight.
Every line I’d imagined tracing on her body back in Lovelace was under my palms now. Every look I’d caught her giving me, everyalmostopportunity she’d tucked away, it was all spillingout here in the dark. She arched beneath me, warm and wanting, whispering my name like it undid her.
I groaned into her mouth, losing myself in the way she kissed—hungry, reckless, like she’d been waiting just as long as I had. The sheets tangled, our laughter cut with gasps, and for once I didn’t think about who might notice, or what it would mean back home, or how long we could keep it quiet.
All I thought about was Lilly—bare, beautiful, fearless—and the way she clung to me like she’d never let go.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, the stubborn part of me admitted the truth I’d been dodging all week: I hadn’t just survived this cruise. I’d lost the battle I’d been fighting since the first time she let me haul firewood to her porch.
And I didn’t give a damn.