Page 31 of Mixing Temptation (Second Shot 3)

“That’s ours for the night,” he said. “Secluded and right on the beach. You can’t see it from here, but there is a porch on the front. Plus, it comes with a kitchenette.”

She nodded slowly, trying to process the fact that he’d rented her a private cottage so close to the water that high tide probably touched the porch steps. It wasn’t a villa at one of those fancy Hawaiian resorts, but it was a lot to take in for a third date.

“What’s the bad news?” she asked, remembering his earlier warning.

He turned to face her. “There’s a conference at the main lodge and they’re booked. The cottage was the only opening. There’s a queen bed and a sleeping loft. I’ll take the loft, but it’s an open floorplan apart from the bathroom. If the loft is too close for comfort, I can grab a sleeping bag from the truck and camp on the porch.”

You can sleep in the loft, she thought. I’ll be fine.

She knew that was the logical response. He’d paid for the cottage. But she hadn’t slept that close to a man in a long time. No walls. No safe barriers. Not that she needed them from Josh. Part of her wanted to propose they share the bed.

And part of her wanted to lock him outside for the night.

“That should work,” she said slowly. “But I might change my mind and claim the porch. I’ve never slept this close to the ocean before.”

He held out a key. “Why don’t you head down and check it out. I’ll grab our bags.”

Her fingers touched his and she grabbed his hand. “Thank you, Josh. For bringing me here. But I need to make one thing clear.”

He nodded.

“I’m picking the location for our next date. It probably won’t be a beachfront cottage because I’m on a budget, but—­”

“I’m up for anything.” His lips curved into a full-­blown smile. “Go enjoy the view.”

CAROLINE WALKED OUT of the bathroom with her long black hair wrapped in a towel and Josh knew he’d be spending the night on the porch. His call. Not hers. And it didn’t have a damn thing to do with the towel—­or the fitted jeans that hugged the curve of her hips. Or the loose, thin sweater material that played peek-­a-­boo w

ith her breasts. It was a black sweater, not thin strips of silk for Christ sake, cut in the shape of an oversized men’s dress shirt minus the buttons and collar. One look shouldn’t inspire a roar of lust.

Ah hell, I had a hard-­on for her when she wore oversized T-­shirts and baggy cargo pants.

He glanced out the cottage window. If Caroline traded her loose-­fitting outfits for lingerie, he’d have a second, maybe two, to make the call before lust overrode his brain and body. Run for the sand dunes or let her seduce him?

But he didn’t have to make the choice tonight. Her sexy sweater wasn’t exactly a secret of old Victoria’s. And he’d tossed the idea of moving past second base out the window during their long drive. Not long after he’d turned on the radio, she’d drifted off to sleep. He’d focused on the road, putting more and more miles behind them. But he couldn’t stop replaying their earlier conversation.

I need to know once and for all if he’s after me.

He remembered the trigger-­happy woman who’d nearly shot a raccoon not long after she’d started working at Big Buck’s. But over time, she’d let the paranoia slip away. Or maybe she’d learned to hide it. Either way, she wanted closure.

He felt a lot of things for this woman. Admiration and lust topped the list. But he also knew that he couldn’t go to bed with her to help her slam the door on the past. He wasn’t afraid she’d freeze or he’d touch her in a way that triggered a memory of her rape. Although, shit, that was something they’d need to address too. But if that happened, they’d stop and deal with it. He wasn’t backing away from her because he feared the stop-­and-­starts or scary moments that led to more talks instead of climaxes.

But if they reached the let’s-­get-­naked date, he planned to have a long discussion with her before they lost their clothes. And he suspected that would be hard on both of them. He’d parted ways with ‘serious’ long before his accident. His eldest brother, Brody, had always been the somber one. Chad had picked up the playboy label and run with it—­until he met Lena.

And that left Josh with humor.

But a talk about how to avoid triggering memories of the way she’d been raped didn’t call for laughter and it couldn’t be avoided. He supposed he could breathe a sigh of relief since that chat wouldn’t happen tonight. Not because he wasn’t feeling as if his jeans had shrunk a size or two since he’d watched her emerge fully dressed in an oversized sweater.

He needed her to want him in the same crazy-­for-­you-­even-­if-­you’re-­wearing-­a-­baggy-­old-­sweater way he wanted her.

His erection threatened to object—­

“The shower is all yours.” She released the towel and let the long, wet strands of hair tumble over her shoulders.

He relinquished his place on the tiny love seat shoved into the one-­room cottage’s kitchenette in an attempt to create a ‘living space’ between the bed and the front door.

“But I used all the cold water,” she added as she pulled a hairbrush from her backpack.

“That’s all right. I’m fine with . . .” He paused in the doorway to the bathroom and turned to her. “How did you manage to use all the cold? As the youngest, I know for a fact that the hot goes first—­”