And then she all but stopped his heart by rolling to her belly, exposing the smooth, sweet skin of her slim back, broken only by the strap of her bra and that scrap of material masquerading as a skirt, which revealed her tattoo and emphasized the sweetest ass he’d ever seen, not to mention the two tightly toned legs that could take him weeks and weeks to explore.
“Do you see the zipper?” she asked, her face pressed into the bed.
The one that ran a whole whopping two inches from the small of her back just below her small tattoo to halfway down the already aforementioned sweet ass? Yeah, he saw it.
“Brody?”
“On it.” His palms itched. His fingers twitched. Everything twitched. He should have gone to the damn post office. With a knee still on the bed, he leaned over her and grabbed the zipper tab.
Then pulled.
She wriggled, widening the gap, and if he’d thought her skirt tiny, it had nothing on her thong panties, a matching tiger-striped, narrow strip bisecting the most amazing, mouthwatering ass he’d ever seen.
Reaching down with her good hand, she shoved the skirt off one hip and then wriggled-Jesus H. Christ-wriggled to try to lower the other side as well. She did have a small birthmark on the back of her right thigh, and at the thought, a strangled sound of lust tumbled from his lips.
Craning her neck, she blinked at him. “You okay?”
No. No, he wasn’t. All of the blood in his body, every single drop, had left his brain for parts south.
“I can’t-” She struggled some more, those sweet cheeks lifting off the bed, and he found himself actually leaning in as if to kiss them.
Or take a bite out of them.
“A hand?”
Yeah, a hand. How about both hands? He could cup and squeeze-
“Brody?”
“Yeah.”
You are so fucked, he told himself and slipped his fingers into the waistband of her skirt to tug. Shrink-wrapped to her skin, the skirt only gave an inch. But that inch…more sweet flesh, more of the thong…holy mother of God, he wasn’t going to recover from this. He really wasn’t.
Another tug, and the skirt slid to her upper thighs, exposing her in full, including the line of the thong as it narrowed and vanished between her legs. And then she scissor kicked the skirt off her legs, giving him an all too quick, tantalizing view of the barely covered treasure in between.
“Brody?”
He blinked and realized she’d turned back over and was waiting for him in nothing but tiger stripes. “Huh?”
“Blanket?”
“Right.” He yanked it over her and swiped his forehead. “It’s hot in here. Is it hot in here?”
Her eyes were already drifting shut. “It’s just perfect. Thanks for your help…”
Okay, then. He strode to the door as fast as he could, needing out, needing air, needing…well, what he needed didn’t bear thinking about.
The minute Brody left the room, Maddie slapped her forehead. Asinine. Her great plan had totally and completely backfired on her because now she was shaking. Shaking and quivery and so turned on she could hardly stand it. She shoved the covers back off and took a deep breath.
He’d wanted her.
By the look in his eyes, he’d wanted all of her, fast and wild and maybe a little dirty. Whew. Fanning her face, she got out of the bed, then went looking for Leena.
They had to go. Like yesterday.
Only Leena was already gone. Her bag, her suitcase…gone.
Oh, God. Maddie stood in the center of the spare bedroom, the spare empty bedroom, and then ran to the window. Leena’s car was gone.
Damn it! She’d decided to execute The Plan on her own.
But Maddie couldn’t let her do it. Stupid plan or not, they were stronger together than apart, and she was going after her to prove it.
Leena bought the last ticket on a plane bound for New Orleans and hoped to be at Ben’s art gallery by dawn.
Assuming her courage caught up with her.
She let out a long breath and walked past the airport bar. The kind of drink she could use about now would only cost her four bucks, but she’d given up alcohol along with the cigarettes and everything else that she missed.
She thought of Maddie and wondered how much her sister would mind that Leena had accidentally grabbed Maddie’s cell phone instead of her own, since apparently they still thought alike and had bought identical phone covers.
Or that Leena had abused the mini credit card she’d found in the back of Maddie’s leather cell phone cover to buy her airline ticket.
Oh, boy. She distracted herself by thinking of Ben. She’d designed a series of exquisite original pieces for his gallery, and by the time she’d finished his job, she’d left a part of her heart and soul there. Because of her art, certainly, but it went deeper than that.
Ben had been in on the design. Not in corroboration so much, but just watching and experiencing her process. It’d been part of the deal, his deal, because he loved to be involved in the artistry of the pieces he collected and sold.
Leena had flown to his gallery several times with the designs, and once she’d begun work on the pieces, Ben had flown to Stone Cay to watch her work.
She’d expected him to be old, stuffy, maybe fat, and definitely snooty. Rick’s people were always snooty. Men with too much money and too much power were spoiled and used to getting their own way. Knowing it, she’d been braced to hate him.
And then she’d entered his gallery.
It was a wide open space with splashes of color that had caused the oddest reaction. Leena had immediately felt invigorated, vibrant…happy. That first day he’d come out from the back in well-worn jeans faded white in the stress points, a white T-shirt, work boots, all splattered in paint. He’d held out his hand for her to shake but had then caught a glimpse of the paint on his skin and laughed, pulling it back before he could get anything on her. “Sorry,” he’d said in a rugged voice tinged with Irish. “I’m in the middle.”
She’d blinked, a little surprised by the fact that he hadn’t been old, stuffy, or anywhere close to fat. In fact, he was maybe thirty, and tall and lanky lean. He was an artist, too, from his paint-splattered boots to the deep soul shining out of his warm chocolate eyes…
He’d liked her. He’d liked her a lot and had wanted to explore that between them, but she’d been there for business only.
Rick’s business.
And yet she’d found a way to wrangle several trips to New Orleans, citing design problems, which had only been an excuse to look at Ben some more.
She was certain he’d seen right through her, but he’d never been anything but sweet and kind, melting her every which way but Sunday with that low, Irish-tinted voice of his…
In spite of dragging it out as long as possible, eventually, she’d finished the jewelry for his gallery, and the job had come to an end. Rick himself had delivered the jewelry, with the priceless precious gems switched out for fakes, of course.
As for Leena, she’d been paid for a job well done and hadn’t seen Ben since.
He’d called several times, and she was so ashamed and terrified of the part she’d played in his being ripped off, she’d not returned a single one.
Just one more thing to hate Rick for.
And herself.
But she was on her way to fixing her wrong in the only way she knew how.
Brody stood in the kitchen waiting for the damn water to boil. He’d never understood the appeal of hot tea. It smelled like old ladies and tasted like flowers.
But whatever. It kept his hands busy. And they needed to be busy. He’d bring the tea to Maddie, who was hopefully still covered with her quilt up to her chin. Because chins weren’t sexy. Chins didn’t make him ache.
In the meantime, hopefully, his body would calm down, but he had a feeling he could brew all the tea in China and his body wouldn’t calm down, not after that little episode upstairs.
His fingers were trembling. He was trembling. And still hard.