Wicked Sexy. Anne Marsh

one bathroom. Housekeeping comes in daily. If you need anything, you’re welcome to try the front desk.”

      The bed dominated the room. Someone—likely her grandmother—had draped the huge four-poster with an obscene quantity of white gauze and piled the headboard with fussy pillows. All that fragility made Daeg look impossibly large and masculine. As he examined the space, the playful tease disappeared. “You don’t have something simpler?”

      “Nope,” she said, enjoying the edge of discomfort in his voice. “And the offer still stands. I’ll find you another hotel. One more to your taste.”

      “This will do.” He tossed his duffel onto the bed. The bag was military issue, an olive-green canvas as rough and tough and frayed as he was.

      She forced her attention away from the bed, unable to hide her surprise. “You’re really going to stay? Here?”

      “Sure.” There was no missing the gleam in his eye as he turned to face her. “You want to tell me why you kissed me today and ran?” His eyes held a whole lot of curiosity and desire, and remembering how he’d kissed her had her dreaming of a repeat performance. Time certainly hadn’t made Daeg Ross any less of a man’s man. That was plenty of spec ops soldier.

      Daeg watched her, waiting for his answer.

      She was here for the summer. He was here for the summer. Her hormones were saying that there was no reason for them not to be together—at least for the next few weeks. Rebound sex, her mind whispered. Think about it.

      “Turn about is fair play?” she suggested.

      He frowned as he connected the dots. “Kissing me was about your prom night?”

      “No,” she corrected him. “It was about your kissing me on the beach ten years ago and then taking off.”

      He was completely focused on her, and she’d bet he knew exactly how many feet separated them—and how long it would take him to close the distance. “I didn’t realize one kiss was an invitation to stay.”

      “You didn’t want to stay,” she pointed out. In fact, he’d left the island the very next day. Their kiss had been amazing and the only good part of her evening, but she wasn’t telling him that now.

      “You were a girl.” He made a move toward her and she threw up a hand.

      “Stop right there,” she ordered and he paused. He should have looked silly, surrounded by the cabin’s kitschy romantic trappings. He wasn’t the sort of man a woman associated with tulle, and yet he’d never looked more male. Yep. He was getting to her again.

      And he wasn’t done talking yet.

      “Where did you think that kiss could go? And I had no business kissing you in the first place.”

      “But you did.”

      He ran a hand over his head. “Yeah. I did.”

      “And then you hightailed it off the island. Never called. Never wrote.” She tossed him the keys and he caught them reflexively, his fingers closing over the metal. “I got the message. You need anything else, you call the front desk.”

      “I had commitments,” he said, ignoring her invitation to wrap things up. “I’d enlisted. My recruiter would have been all over me and rightfully so if I’d missed my dates.”

      “So you had no business kissing me?”

      “Agreed,” he snapped.

      “Fine. But it’s not happening again.” She turned on her heel, laying a course for the door. She was done here.