I snatch up the gift bag, desperate to break this weird tension. “Let’s see what goodies Kai left us. Hopefully some snacks, because I’m starving.”
The tissue paper crinkles as I dig in, pushing past a layer of rose-scented candles, a bottle of edible massage oil that I immediately shove aside, and then—Oh.Oh,hello.
I grab hold of what can only be described as the Godzilla of vibrators, its purple silicone surface catching the light like a beacon of bad decisions. This thing hasgirthand more buttons than my camera.
“I know you don’t want me to talk about sex or Kai’s impressive love stick, but…” I snort, pulling it out.“¡Por Dios!It’s kind of hard not to when I’m holding what appears to be the eighth wonder of the world.”
Reece releases the longest drawn-out groan, as if his final thread of patience just flatlined.
I rotate the vibrator in my palms. “Holy mother of orgasms, look at the size of this bad boy. Ten bucks says Kai used his own dick as the prototype. No wonder he walks that way—he’s got a franchise opportunity in his pants.”
“Give me that.” Reece snatches it from my grasp. He moves to shove it back into the bag, but—
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
The thing roars, and I mean ROARS to life, vibrating so violently it’s breakdancing in his hands.
“Shit!” He fumbles with it, his hands a blur of jerky movement, like it’s a ticking time bomb. His breath hitches as he frantically presses buttons, flipping it over, shaking it, pressing everywherebutthe shutoff. “What the—how do I—goddammit!”
I collapse onto the mattress, wheezing. “¡Ay, Dios! This is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Where’s my camera?!”
“Where’s the damn—why won’t this thing—” Reece glares at me, growing more flustered by the second. “You think this is funny?”
I gasp, clutching my stomach as I do my best to breathe through my laughter.
“Here!” He thrusts it at me. “Since you’re such an expert, you turn it off!”
I catch it. Barely. The vibrations travel straight up my arms, down my spine, and into places that should absolutely not be reacting to this situation.
And then the laughter dies in my throat.
Because Reece is staring at me.
Not scowling. Not fuming.
Staring.
His chest rises and falls, slow and measured, his lips parted just enough that my brain takes a sharp left turn intounacceptable territory. His pupils? Blown wide. His blue eyes? Nearly black.
No. No way.This has to be rage. It must be hisI’m-about-to-feed-you-to-the-sharksface.
I find the power button immediately and chuck the beast back into the bag. Though my body clearly didn’t get the memo, because everything low and deep inside me clenches at his intensity.
“So,” I say, my voice embarrassingly breathy, “I really need to shower and get this glitter out of my bra. I’m itchy as hell.”
“Fine,” Reece says, rolling onto his side and burrowing into the pillows. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be unconscious and pretending today never happened.”
“Oh hell no. You arenotcamping out here while I’m showering.“ I gesture at our wall-less paradise. “I might not be your type, but you’re a man, and all men have a built-in perv setting. I’m not about to beta-test your self-control.”
His lips quirk. “So, are you planning to peek at me in the shower? See how I measure up to Aquaman?”
“Don’t start acting like a jealous boyfriend, Reece. I might find it attractive.”
“Jealousy does it for you, huh?”
I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “A little possessiveness never hurt anyone.”
His brows lift slightly in intrigue. But before he has the chance to speak, I say, “But don’t worry—you’re not my type either. I don’t care for brooding control freaks who critique my every breath.”
