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“A scientist who studies snakes—and yet Hawaii doesn’t have snakes.” She wiggled back and forth, torturing them both. Maybe she had a future in witness interrogation. “Where was I?”

“Snakes,” he supplied, a little breathless.

“Right. I knew that. My hunch is that you’re on the way back from somewhere. Possibly Asia.”

“They have lots of snakes,” he agreed, like he was considering it alongside her. “Especially Indonesia. Komodo dragons too.”

“But do they have Caramello Koalas? Because I saw a pile of wrappers in your kitchen.” Her first thought had been that a mess like that in her apartment would have been a summoning circle for bugs, but the resort was vigilant about pest control.

Jean’s second observation was that her snaky friend had recently been in Australia.

He started to nod, but she grabbed his chin to keep it still.

“On the other hand, you don’t seem like a resort person. I mean that as a compliment. So that tells me you’re not here on vacation. Am I getting warmer?” She rocked forward on his lap, provoking a strangled gasp of agreement.

“Are you ready to hear my brilliant conclusion?”

“ Yes ,” he sighed, hands tightening at her waist.

She tweaked his nipple to make sure he was listening. “Witness protection. That’s what I think is going on.”

“Um,” he said, which could be interpreted a lot of different ways.

“That’s why you’re hiding out. Charlie probably isn’t even your real name.

” Of course she’d checked the booking system as soon as she got back to the desk last night, but while Adams was a reasonably normal last name, she really didn’t think her guy was a Samuel, much less a Samuel Adams. He might as well have registered as Bud Light.

Then again, not everyone had Jean’s knack for subterfuge.

“I’m thinking you saw something deep in the jungle,” she continued.

“Jewel mine, smugglers, a ruined temple with a doomsday cult practicing their weird death rituals—no!” This time she pressed her whole hand to his mouth.

“Don’t say a word. It’s better if I don’t know.

I like to think I’m the kind of person who could resist being tortured, but how can I be sure until they bring out the pliers, you know? ”

He made a noise behind closed lips.

“You can answer that one,” she said, removing her hand.

“Like a snake pit. Except I guess that’s more execution than torture.”

Jean bracketed his skull with her hands, thinking, I might keep you .

She let her forehead come to rest against his, in the gentlest possible headbutt, before pulling away again.

“I have experience getting caught up in circumstances beyond my control, so I can empathize. You set out with one agenda and the next thing you know, you’re in the shit.

” She booped him on the nose. “How are you holding up?”

“Uh.”

“That wasn’t a dick joke. You can talk to me about your feelings. I’m a lot deeper than I look.” Jean paused. “That was also not an innuendo.”

“Well, I can’t really complain about the current circumstances.” He looked down to hide his grin.

Jean kissed him again, because she wanted to, and it was easier than admitting how strongly she agreed. “Do you know what?”

He shook his head.

She whispered the words against his lips, like a seductive promise. “I challenge myself to race you to the bed.”

By the time he caught on, Jean was up and running.

She had the advantage of agility, but once he got off the ground, Charlie’s long stride quickly closed the gap.

They collided in the doorway. Jean used the momentum to bounce herself at the bed, landing a millisecond before he crashed into her again, both of them face-planting on the mattress.

She didn’t wait to catch her breath. Wedging her shoulder un der his side, Jean tipped him onto his back, pinning him to the mattress before he returned the favor, cradling the back of her head with his hand as if she were made of blown glass.

They were laughing but also going all out, which was one of Jean’s favorite moods. Charlie tickled her, she bit him on the shoulder. When Jean went for the wedgie, the double layer of underwear proved to be an insurmountable obstacle.

Defeated, she let him settle on top of her, bracing his weight on his elbows. “Do you surrender?” he asked, breathing hard.

Jean wriggled a little, careful not to dislodge him. “I win, actually.”

“How do you figure?”

“Maybe this is what I wanted all along.”

He looked down at the place where their bodies met. From the waist up, they were naked, in his bed. It didn’t take a genius (as she suspected he was) to see the possibilities.

“Let’s call it a draw.” A hint of mischief softened the line of his mouth.

It was only a spark of devilishness, but Jean felt confident she could coax it into flame, given enough time. “Can I see it now?” she asked, tracing the sharp line of his jaw with her fingertip.

His glasses were still in the living room, giving her an unobstructed view of his glossy black brows drawing together in confusion. “My article?”

“Your snake.”

“You mean the tattoo?”

“That too.” Jean slid her hand down his back, working her fingers under the elastic of his waistbands (both of them) until she could squeeze the delicious curve that marked the general vicinity of his inked-on snake.

He swallowed. “If you want.”

And yet he seemed in no hurry to move while she had her hand in his pants. Yanking it free, she smacked his backside. “Get along, little doggie.” She was pretty sure that was how they talked where he was from. Jangling through the tumbleweeds in their spurs and big hats.

He rolled onto his side with an abashed expression, struggling to pull down both pairs at once. “I’m not very good at this,” he apologized, locked in battle with his own knee.

“It’s hard to do a quality striptease without the music,” Jean sympathized. “Do you want me to hum for you, Houdini?”

Her a cappella bump-and-grind soundtrack wasn’t technically helpful, since it made him laugh so hard he had to stop and catch his breath, but eventually he untangled his ankles and kicked free of his underwear.

And since he looked a lot less self-conscious now that they’d taken a time-out for comedy, Jean counted that as a win.

“My turn.” She gave him a sultry look while unzipping her shorts. Holding eye contact, she rose to her knees and started to push them down, only to stage a pratfall and sprawl across him. “A little help?”

Charlie scrambled to comply, pulling her out of the shorts like they were on fire. He paused with his thumb hooked under the lacy elastic at her hip, meeting her eyes.

“These too?”

“Don’t you want to see my butt tattoo?”

“You have one?”

She shook her head. “It’s just a ploy to get me naked.”

“Am I crushing you?” he asked, when at last he was stretched out on top of her, skin-to-skin.

“Don’t you dare move.”

“Okay.” He held perfectly still. “Jean?”

“Yes, Charlie?”

“I’m not very… fancy. In terms of my moves.”

“You’re doing fine.”

He nodded, more out of politeness than because he actually believed it, if the tightness around his eyes was any indication. “You’ll let me know? If you want me to try something different.”

“I’m a big believer in starting with the fundamentals. Like learning to cook. You don’t go straight to lobster thermidor.” Whatever that was. “You have to master the basics first.”

“Like macaroni and cheese?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Dakota.” She added an eyebrow wiggle in case bumping him with her hips didn’t get the point across. “You’re at least a manicotti.”

The blush looked more like a sunburn. Jean felt another twinge inside her rib cage at his innocence, and the fact that he had admitted it to her, rather than trying to bluff.

What was that story, about the shard of ice getting stuck in someone’s heart so they couldn’t feel?

Only this was the opposite: a melting. She sensed a big messy scrum of emotions waiting to break free.

“Think about it. It’s a lot easier than poker. Or public speaking.”

“Okay.” He was a billion percent too trusting, batting those obscenely long lashes at her like Bambi in man form.

“I’m waiting for my sexy snake facts.” The pads of her fingers traced the slightly different texture of his tattoo.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I figured you’d say something about anacondas.”

“Well, they’re cannibalistic. I mean, they’ll eat other anacondas,” he added when Jean didn’t respond.

“I know what cannibalistic means. You just went a different direction than I was expecting.”

“Oh.” He looked down at her with a worried expression. “What should I have said?”

“Hey, babe, wanna ride my anaconda?”

“An anaconda can weigh up to two hundred and fifty pounds. I wouldn’t want to get your hopes up.”

Jean snorted at that, reaching up to tug a piece of hair at his temple. “What else have you got in that big brain of yours?”

He gave the question serious consideration, like he wanted to impress her with the best possible answer. “Did you know some snakes reproduce parthenogenetically?”

“Depends what it means.”

“The females don’t need a male to fertilize their eggs. They do the whole thing by themselves.”

She rolled Charlie onto his back before climbing on top of him and pinning his arms above his head. “Where’s the fun in that?”