Page 8 of Slumming It

I hadn't been there, but I'd heard all about it from Vivian, who had realized only after he'd walked away that there was a reason he'd looked so familiar. My sister was a huge real estate buff and followed not only local business news, but national and international developments, too.

Vivian liked to dream big. As for myself, allIwanted was to hold onto my own little slice of heaven right here in Driftwood Cove – the place where I was born twenty-three years ago.

Was that so much to ask?

At the door, Reese Murdock finally gritted out, "Fine. I'll be there in two minutes."

"Or…" Vivian cleared her throat. "I could walk you down. You know…to show you the way?" When a long moment passed with no reply, she mumbled, "I just mean…so you don't get lost?"

Poor Vivian.If I weren't so tense, I might have laughed. Our entire hotel was smaller than the guy's beachfront mansion – or more accurately,oneof his beachfront mansions. Apparently, he had several. Regardless, he was no stranger to making his way around.

And besides, our floorplan wasn't that complicated. Even someone who lived in a trailer would need to work pretty hard to get lost inthisplace.

This, I knew from experience.

Sure enough, the guy told her, "Forget it."

"But—"

"I'll manage on my own."

"Oh. Well…of course." Vivian's tone brightened as she plastered on a big smile. I couldn't see it, but I could definitely hear it as she chirped, "I'll see you in a couple minutes then."

The smile was a total waste. The guy shut the door without bothering to reply. As his feet turned toward the room's interior, he muttered, "Un-fucking-believable."

Well, he was right aboutthat.Honestly,Icould hardly believe it either. I mean, it's not like I'd planned to be in this predicament.

From my hidden spot, I watched with growing impatience as the guy's feet approached the bed and slipped into his shoes. He sat back down on the mattress above me and quickly tied the laces, first on one shoe and then the other. At last, his hand reached down for the fallen shirt. He yanked it upward and stood yet again.

I couldn’t hear him putting the shirt on, but I could almost see it, thanks to a few of those photos I'd seen on the internet. There had been no shirtless ones, but therehadbeen a particularly interesting photo of him wearing black running pants and a light gray T-shirt as he'd jogged along the beach somewhere in Florida, where he owned not just a mansion or two, but also a bunch of waterfront hotels.

The shirt had been damp from saltwater or more likely, sweat. The thin fabric had clung to his pecs in a way that had left very little to the imagination. And yet, later on, in the privacy of my own bedroom, I'd found myself imagining plenty as my fingers roamed under the covers.

At the recollection, a silent sigh escaped my lips. To think, it was the closest thing to sex I'd had in months.

And now, I was hiding under his bed.

Cripes, maybe Iwasa pervert.

I gave myself a mental slap.Do not think about his incredible body.

Or his ruggedly handsome face.

Instead, think about, well…dust mites or something.I gave the carpet a wary glance. If the carpet did have mites, my clothes were probably crawling with them.

A silent shudder skipped across my spine.Yup, that did the trick, alright.

Shoving aside the creepy-crawly feeling, I watched as the guy finally strode to the door, opened it quickly, and disappeared into the hall, letting the door click shut behind him.

I let out a huge sigh of relief.Finally.

I scrambled out from under the bed and bolted for the door. When I reached it, I pressed my ear to its surface and listened for the sounds of fading footsteps.

I heard nothing.

But hehadto be gone, right?

Not taking any chances, I stood on my tiptoes and pressed my eye to the peephole. Through the narrow view, I saw nothing except the door to the room on the opposite side of the hall.