Page 48 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess
“I know,” I say, my voice light even as a little thrill zips through me. It’s a totally unwelcome feeling. I’m sure it has nothing to do with Dex, though. It’s probably just because it’s been a long time since I’ve spent time with an attractive man. “I figured. And I’m fine with that.”
“Good. I think that should be convincing enough.”
“No kissing,” I say.
And something strange happens then. Something I don’t fully understand.
At the word “kissing,” Dex’s whole body tenses. His gaze darts over to me, meeting not my eyes but falling instead to my lips. My breath hitches in my chest as the space between us comes alive, electric and anticipatory. I fist my hands on my thighs, fighting the sudden urge to reach out and…what? Touch his face? His lips?
Whatisthis? What’s going on here? Because I refuse to believe Scarlett’s right. I refuse to have a crush on this man.
My heart is nothing but a blur ofthump-thump-thumpas Dex yanks his gaze away from my lips. I watch as he clenches the steering wheel tighter, and his voice is deep and rough as he repeats, “No kissing.”
What on earth is happening to me?
* * *
The resort is gorgeous.I’m not particularly well traveled, so I don’t know how it measures up to other resorts out there, but it looks good to me. There’s a massive fountain out in front, made of what looks like white marble. It’s fancy and beautiful, although I’ve never really understood the point of fountains other than to look pretty and to give children a place to make wishes.
The building itself is white with large columns and stately shuttered windows. It looks less like a hotel than a really,reallybig house. The lobby, once we’ve parked and carried our bags in, looks like a house, too—white-paneled walls, a dark wooden floor, and a curving staircase that would look right at home with a debutante sweeping down it.
“Wow,” I murmur, looking around as Dex checks us in.
I’m pulled out of my impressed gawking, though, when he returns to my side with a little frown on his face.
“What is it?” I say, looking up at him.
“My mother booked us one room,” he says quietly.
Oh. That’s…not ideal.
“There’s a sleeper sofa,” he says quickly. “And it’s a suite, so I don’t think we’ll be tripping over each other or anything. But…it is just the one room, and there’s only one actual bed.” He looks apologetic as he speaks.
“It’s okay,” I say, because what else am I supposed to do? “It’s fine. We’ll make it work.”
He nods, looking relieved. “I’m sorry,” he says, nodding in the direction of the staircase. “I did ask if there were any more rooms, but with the wedding, they’re booked.”
“It’s really okay,” I say, following him, trying not to think too hard about the details. For some reason all I can focus on is that the whole suite will probably end up smelling like him, like that piney scent, and I’ll probably end up smelling like him too. Which wouldn’t beterrible,I guess—
No. Bad Maya. Bad. Don’t think about how good he smells.
It’s a good thing I only packed a small suitcase, because carrying it up this very long staircase is rough on my wimpy arm muscles. I’m sure there’s an elevator around here somewhere, but Dex is strolling right up with his bag like he does this every day, so I’m not going to be the one to ask. Instead I just pant along behind him, trying not to seem like I’m not wildly out of shape.
I am not successful.
“Want me to take that?” Dex says, raising one eyebrow at me when we reach the top of the stairs.
I thrust the suitcase at him, too out of breath to speak. I do not appreciate his amused smile or his brisk pace when he starts walking again. Can’t he see that I’m dying over here? All I can do is follow in his wake, taking deep, gulping breaths and fanning my face with my hands. Luckily, we’re only a few doors down, and my breathing has mostly evened out by the time we stop at our room. I still would like to smack that amused little smirk off Dex’s face, but seeing as I need to coexist with him for the next two days, this feels unwise. I settle instead for a glare, followed by a muttered “thank you” when he passes my suitcase to me. Then he unlocks the door, and in we go.
The room is exactly what I thought it would be. Airy and light with a strong ocean theme. The floors are light wood, the furniture teal and comfortable looking. For precisely twelve seconds I drift around with my jaw hanging open, admiring everything—the natural light, the beach mural on one wall, the unnecessarily large TV—before letting out an “oomph” as I run smack into Dex, who has stopped in his tracks very abruptly at the entrance to the bedroom.
“Hey,” I say, stumbling backward and trying to ignore the fact that I’ve never encountered such a muscular back. “What’s—” But I break off when I see the bed. The whole bedroom, in fact.
Rose petals are everywhere.Everywhere. The bed, the floor, the TV stand. There’s a bucket of champagne on the bedside table, and matching silk robes are hanging on the outside of the closet. The curtains are closed, a soft pinkish glow coming instead from the lights overhead.
And is that…music? Soft jazz?
Yes. Yes, it is.
