Page 57 of Ex Marks the Spot
“I’m not sure, since I was only able to look at them for point-two seconds before you smacked me and drenched my shirt.” With a ghost of a smile on his lips, he glances at the wet splotch on his sleeve while he continues swirling his hands among the bright orange fruit.
Today’s challenge brought us to a small village northwest of Kunming, where we’re tasked with making a hundred and fifty pu-erh tea pods out of tangerine husks. Basically, we cut and gut each tangerine like we would a pumpkin, stuff it with tea leaves, and put it on a drying rack. When we’re done with that, we’ll individually wrap a hundred and fifty previously dried tea pods. Once the tea maker approves our paper-wrapping technique, we’ll get our next clue.
But first, we need to finish rinsing the tangerines.
“I hardly drenched your shirt,” I say, mimicking Court’s movements in the barrel of water.
He surveys his sleeve again. “I dunno, seems pretty wet to me.”
“Then maybe you need a refresher on what ‘wet’ actually means.”
Okay, in my defense, that didn’t sound dirty in my head.
Without missing a beat, his gaze rakes over my body in a blatant display of heated appreciation. When he’s taken his fill, he arches a brow and leans in. “Care to jog my memory?”
I open my mouth to tell him there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell, but what comes out instead is, “I would care so hard.”
Those damn lips of his settle into a smirk that begs me to come closer. “And how do you plan on doing that?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Mueller.”
Wait. Why am I flirting with Court? And why am I enjoying it so much?
“Actually, I would.” His smirk slowly transforms into a sexy, smolderingthing that cranks up the temperature in ways that have nothing to do with the balmy afternoon sun.
He’s flirting back.
And I’m enjoying that too.
And now I want to touch him.
Don’t you dare,my Scorned Brain says as it gesticulates wildly at the Cheater! sign.You’re supposed to end this race with half a million dollars, not another broken heart.
It’s a valid point, but then my Logical Brain pipes in with,Do you not see the opportunity for a compromise right in front of your face?
Huh?
On cue, my fingers flex in the water and then I’m fighting a grin becauseyes. It’s the perfect solution.
“How about I show you right now?”
Court swallows thickly as I remove one hand from the barrel and slowly draw it toward my chest. As expected, he tracks the movement, giving me the perfect opportunity to scoop out a handful of water and smear it across his face.
“Now you’re wet.” I finally unleash my grin.
He blinks back at me for several stunned seconds before lifting the bottom of his shirt to dry off. I’m pretty sure the camera guy gets high-definition footage of me ogling his abs, but it seems like a fair trade for a close-up view of this caliber. I should buy a large-screen TV and beg for a copy of the footage.
Reluctantly, I return my gaze to his face as he lowers his shirt.
His expression is equal parts mirth and mischief when he says, “Well done, Miss Billings, but you’re forgetting one very important thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Two can play at that game.” Half a second later, he locks one arm around my shoulders and douses me with a giant man-paw full of water that I would’ve seen coming if I hadn’t been ensnared by the wicked gleam in his eyes. I sputter against the onslaught of liquid as he says, “Now we’re even.”
Our proximity means I can’t use my shirt to dry my face, so I snake my arm up between our bodies to clear the water from my lashes. “We are hardly even. If anything, you deserve another round because I’m twice as wet as you.”
There are a million other things I should be focusing on right now (like how we’re technically wasting time and I still don’t know whether theBombshells are acting weird) but all that takes a back seat when Court murmurs, “What I’m hearing you say is I made you extra wet?”