An hour later, Jilly stepped from the shower and wrapped one of the resort's fluffy white towels around her, sarong style. Freshly showered, and relaxed, she was ready to face the day. No doubt about it, nothing like a good bout-or several good bouts-of sex to put a spring in the step.
And as long as she remembered that that's all this was-just sex-everything would be fine. And she'd do it even if the effort to remember killed her. She wouldn't dwell on the intensity of their lovemaking. She'd forget about the heavenly texture of his skin beneath her hands and mouth. Push aside the memory of him filling her, touching her everywhere, murmuring her name like a prayer. Bludgeon all recollection of them laughing together while they fed each other chocolate-covered marshmallows. Yup, she had everything in perspective and she was in control.
After exiting the bathroom, she rounded the corner and saw Matt standing next to the phone. Matt wearing nothing except his boxer briefs-which raised her temperature-and a decidedly guilty look-which raised her curiosity.
"Something wrong?" she asked.
"Nope."
"You sure?"
"Yup."
"Were you able to reach Jack?"
"Just got off the phone with him. Looks like we're on our own for today."
She raised her brows. "What is he doing?"
"He's driving out to Orient Point with his new lady friend, Carol. They'll be gone all day, but Jack said he'd meet us for dinner here at the resort at seven."
She blew out a long breath. "Well, that puts us in a rather awkward position. Dinner last night was one thing, but Adam isn't going to be too happy to learn that so much of Maxximum's schmooze time is being stolen away by Jack's new friend."
"Well, short of kidnapping Jack, there isn't much we can do about it. Besides, it might work out for the best. Jack told me him and Carol are getting along like gangbusters." He shot her a pointed look. "I told him I understood completely."
Warmth flooded her at the heat flickering in his eyes. "So it looks like we're stuck with each other for the entire day."
"Seems so," Matt agreed. He walked toward her, and Jilly's heart sped up. He didn't stop until their bodies were pressed together from chest to knee. And then he destroyed her with one of those toe-curling, exquisite kisses that-
Tasted like chocolate.
Her eyes flew open, and she leaned back to glare at him. "What were you doing while I showered?" she asked, her eyes narrowed on his lips.
"Nothing," he said quickly. Too quickly.
She leaned forward and sniffed. "You smell like chocolate. You taste like chocolate. My chocolate."
"Aw, now Jilly-"
"Don't you 'Aw, now Jilly' me. There was only one piece left. If you ate it, I'm going to sue the pants off you."
"Sweetheart, you don't have to sue me to get my pants off."
"Well, if you ate my last piece of chocolate, you're going to have one hell of a time getting my pants off."
He hooked his finger in her towel and pulled. The terry cloth dropped to the floor. "You're not wearing pants." In one smooth movement, he shoved down his boxer briefs and stepped out of them. "And as luck would have it, neither am I."
Her mouth went dry at the sight of him-tall, muscular, aroused, beautiful as only a man with shower-damp, messy hair can be. The desire simmering in his eyes fired an answering want in her.
He drew her into his arms and gently rubbed his erection against her belly, shooting sparks straight to her womb. "I'll have you know," he said, "I only ate half of the last chocolate-covered marshmallow. We can buy more when we go out." He bent his head and flicked his tongue over her nipple, stealing her breath.
"I don't know… do you think we'll ever make it out of the room?" she asked, the last word ending with a husky moan as he drew her taut nipple into the heat of his mouth. "I'm afraid that my long abstinence has rendered me a bit insatiable."
"Yeah, that's too bad. Really." He trailed his tongue up her neck then nibbled on her earlobe. "As much as I don't want to leave the room, we're going to have to. We're down to our last condom. And the last half of the chocolate-covered marshmallows."
"That candy is mine, Marshmallow-boy."
"Has anyone ever told you that you're really bossy?"
"No one who lived to tell the tale."
"Well, since you shared the last piece of chocolate with me, I'm willing to share my last condom with you. Whaddaya say?"
She pulled his mouth to hers. "I say sharing is good."
Sitting in the comfortable booth where they'd just finished a delicious lunch of seafood pasta, Matt watched Jilly walk toward the sign marked "rest rooms." The instant she disappeared from view, he dragged his hands down his face.
Man, what the hell was wrong with him? Here he was, enjoying the company of a beautiful, intelligent, witty woman who turned him onto the point of forgetting how to speak English and who'd made it plain that another round of heart-stopping sex was in his immediate future. He should be as happy as a pig wallowing in mud. So why wasn't he?
The problem, you doofus, is that you're having too much fun, his inner voice informed him.
He huffed out another breath. Damn, it was true. He'd expected to enjoy her in bed, but he hadn't anticipated enjoying her just as much out of bed. Over lunch they'd discovered a mutual love of Bond flicks, mystery novels, jazz, the zoo, the Metropolitan Museum of Art's latest exhibit, and spicy Thai food. They'd held hands across the table and laughed over high school and college memories. Traded work war stories. Shared favorite Christmas memories.
He wasn't sure how it had happened, but somewhere between the pasta and his second cup of coffee, this weekend with her had entered a very scary place-a danger zone marked by huge, red neon signs that alternately flashed Be Careful, Proceed At Your Own Risk, and Warning: Heartbreak Ahead.
Good God, he really was a doofus. Any other guy would think he'd hit the lottery with this sweet deal he had going-a weekend of mindless, no-strings-attached sex with a woman who could melt bricks. But was he happy? Noooo. Well, yes, he was-but not as happy as he should be. Because, unfortunately, Jilly had engaged a hell of a lot more than his body. And he needed to nip that in the bud. Needed some time away from her to put things back in perspective, because any perspective he'd possessed had gotten shot to hell making love to her, and as he'd realized over lunch, that same perspective got shot to hell just talking with her. Yeah. Some time away from her was needed. Just a quick breather. An hour or so would do it.
After pulling out his cell phone, he punched in the number for Chateau Fontaine. One minute later, the proud owner of two spa reservations, he disconnected and blew out a long sigh of relief, assured that he was once again in control.
Seconds later, Jilly reappeared. When she slid into the booth across from him, he said, "I have a confession to make."
Mischief sparkled in her eyes. "Hmmm. Will this one be as good as dropping your old boss's fancy fishing pole overboard when he brought you out on his boat?"
He shot her a mock glare. "I knew I shouldn't have shared that moment. So I'm not a fisherman. Besides, the pole was slippery, and the water was rough."
"Of course it was," she said, patting his hand, and unsuccessfully hiding her grin. "So what's the big confession?"
"While you were freshening up, I called the resort and arranged for spa time for each of us. At four o'clock I'm scheduled for a massage, and you're in for a deluxe facial."
One brow hiked up. "Facial? You trying to tell me something? Like maybe I'm looking haggard?"
"No way. A guy would have to be insane to tell a woman who's a black belt that she looks haggard. I just thought you might like it."