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“No, though I’ve always wanted to go. They have sidewinders!”

“I… did not know that.” She waited for him to go on, but he seemed to have forgotten the original question. It was hard to tell whether he was easily distracted or didn’t like talking about himself. “So where are you from?”

He ducked his head. “Um, South Dakota.”

“Deadwood?”

“Not far from there. Do you know Bear Butte?”

“I do now.” She gave his towel a significant look.

“Oh, well. It’s not that type of bare. More of the claws and teeth kind.” He cleared his throat, glancing at her from under lashes so thick they were like windshield wipers inside his glasses. “Usually people ask about Mount Rushmore.”

“I’m unique.”

“Yes,” he agreed, a smile breaking free.

“Don’t try to butter me up, Dakota. What happened with the rain? Did you leave all your clothes outside? Or is this a lifestyle choice?” She gestured at his bare torso. He placed his free hand there, covering a few inches of skin and hair between his pecs.

“I left the sliding glass doors open. The rain came flooding in. There was so much of it.” He looked troubled at the memory. “I tried to clean it up, but the floor is still pretty soggy.”

Somewhere along the line he seemed to have missed Rich People 101.

They tended to be quick on the trigger when it came to blaming the resort for the most minor of inconveniences, even if it was their own fault.

He could have demanded a new room or a cleanup crew or a spa gift certificate for his troubles instead of a few measly towels.

She briefly entertained the idea that he was not, in fact, a paying guest. But if he was a squatter who’d broken into one of their most exclusive lodgings, it seemed unlikely he’d call the front desk with a request.

“It took all the towels I had to wipe up the floor, and then I tried to wring them out so I could use them again, since everything was still damp, but it didn’t really work. And then I was sweating from all the running back and forth, so I decided to take a shower.”

Jean waggled her brows. “Nice.”

“Oh.” He bit his lip, obviously dismayed. “I didn’t mean to sound… suggestive.” As if mentioning a shower was more indiscreet than flashing her.

“Then you shouldn’t have talked about cleaning. There’s a whole genre of men-doing-chores erotica. The dishwashing ones are my favorite.”

“I had no idea.” He blinked at Jean as if she’d thrown his whole world out of focus.

“That’s because I just made it up. But it could be true. Back to the shower.” She mimed scrubbing herself, mostly to see him blush again.

“I forgot there weren’t any towels to dry off with afterward.”

“So there you were, naked and dripping?” she prompted.

“I tried using a kitchen towel, but it’s not really the same. Drying off a plate and drying off… you know.”

“Human flesh?”

“Er, yes. And it was very humid, so it felt like the air needed its own towel. I hated to bother anyone, but I didn’t want to get the furniture wet, and I wasn’t sure how long I’d have to stand up before I stopped being damp, so I called the number on the phone and then you came.

” He paused, wincing a little. “I didn’t expect anyone to get here so quickly. ”

“I’m known for my land speed. In the water, not so much. I’m originally from the mainland too. Though I’ve been here long enough to get used to the weather.”

“How did you—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I’m keeping you from your work. Sorry. And I’m also sorry for, ah, you know—”

“The anatomy lesson?”

He nodded, flushing again. Jean watched him swipe a hand across his forehead with a quick jerk, like she might not notice if he was fast enough.

“Sweating again?” she asked, checking the parts of him she could see for evidence. There was some definite dewiness at the base of his throat.

“Sorry. I’m a little nervous.”

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” Jean made her eyes big and innocent, letting her lips take on just a hint of a pout, like a ceramic figurine at the Hallmark store: Little Girl Who Dropped Her Ice Cream.

“No,” he said, after thinking about it for a few seconds. “I suppose I’m not. Afraid, that is.” The discovery seemed to surprise him. He stood a little straighter, shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “You’re the first person I’ve talked to today,” he confided. “Or yesterday.”

“On purpose?”

“Sort of. I don’t mind being alone. It’s easier than a crowd.”

“You’re not like the boy in the bubble or something? Or on a silent, naked retreat?”

“Do you get many of those?”

“You would’ve been my first.” She added a wink because the innuendo amused her.

Had she crossed the line between joking and coming on to someone?

Maybe, but Jean preferred to oper ate on instinct, and right now she was having fun.

That was her definition of a green light.

Her gaze landed on the neat rows of cards spread across the duvet. “You play?”

He nodded. “Solitaire, mostly.”

Talk about a cry for help. “When are you checking out?”

“Why?” Of all the invasive questions she’d asked since barging into his space, that was the one that seemed to put his back up.

“Maybe I should come back. To keep you from going full Wolf Boy.”

“Really? That’s—I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose—”

Jean held up a hand before he could stammer himself into a knot. “Don’t get any funny ideas. I’m not going to touch your snake.”

“I don’t have any snakes with me, Jean.” His tone was deadly serious. “It’s illegal to bring them into Hawaii. They would decimate the bird population. I’m sure you know what happened in Guam—oh.” Something in her expression must have clued him in. “You weren’t talking about that kind of snake.”

She shook her head. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing more. Since you’re clearly an expert.”

“I don’t know about that . I don’t even have a PhD.” If he’d been wearing something more substantial than a towel, he would undoubtedly have stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels.

“If you say so.” Jean set the remaining towels on the teak credenza that served no purpose other than filling half the wall and turned to go. “Maybe I’ll teach you a real game.” She tipped her head at his abandoned cards. “If you’re still here.”

“Jean,” he said, as she started for the door. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“That you play naked solitaire?”

He shook his head. “That I’m staying here.”

That dialed her interest up several notches.

“Secrets are my favorite food group.” Also, it would be hard to expose the presence of someone whose name she still didn’t know, though she suspected it wouldn’t take much to tease the information out of him.

For now, she preferred to maintain the air of mystery, so she mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key.

“Jean?” he said again, when she was at the door.

She glanced over her shoulder, watching him scramble for an excuse to keep her there a little longer.

“Thanks for the towels.”

“My pleasure,” she replied, with extra sauciness.

“It was nice meeting you,” he mumbled, blushing some more. Talk about an open book.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

Snake Boy bit his lower lip, fighting a smile. “So tomorrow, maybe?” He looked around the living room with a frown. “I should straighten up.”

Jean pictured him fussing with a feather duster, then arranging bowls of mixed nuts—preferably still in the towel. It was an undeniably appealing image, but she didn’t want to make it too easy on him.

His eyes locked on her as she took several slow steps in his direction. She watched his nostrils flare, pretty sure he was sneaking a hit of her perfume.

“No promises, Mr. Clean. I might get a better offer. Maybe there’s an even more naked spider scientist behind one of these doors.”

“Arachnologist,” he murmured, frowning. Jean thought he must be jealous of his imaginary rival, until he went on. “How could someone be more naked? Oh!” Letting go of the towel, he scraped his hair back from his forehead. “If they were bald.”

Jean dragged her eyes from the hip bones exposed by his sagging towel, nodding as if she’d had the exact same thought. Of course a bald spiderologist would be even more nude. That was just logic.

“If you do come back,” he started to say, before breaking off.

She raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll be here.” He pressed his lips together as though afraid of what might slip out. “That’s all.”

Another step brought her within touching range.

He tensed as she raised a hand, slowly drawing a finger over the left side of his chest, one short line bisected by another in the opposite direction.

The pounding under his skin suggested she’d found the right spot, the rapid beat mirroring the spike in her pulse at the moment of contact.

“You forgot to cross your heart.” Spinning on her heel, Jean left him to his thoughts. She had a hunch a lot of them would be about her.

That and snakes, obviously.