“No?” Max isn’t going to let it drop. “So you’re both dating other people?”
“No,” I repeat.
I mean, we don’t really have any kind of a future together. I’m not making the same mistakes I made with Molly, and I don’t know what Hazel wants, but I assume she hasn’t changed her mind. So is it fair for me to keep sleeping with her and distracting her from the quest for a perfect man? Is awesome sex really enough? No matter how much she bitches about it, part of her wants that tiny house in the Coleman compound. She wants to fit in there all the way and sleeping with me in secret isn’t really getting her any closer to that goal.
Maple dances back to Max, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning into him for a kiss. He fists her ponytail, angling her head so he can kiss her deeper and harder. They don’t care who’s watching. She manages to make him look graceful as he lifts her up so he can devour her mouth. I look over at Hazel.
Hazel grins at me. “You don’t want anything?”
I want you.
I want to kiss you like nothing matters more.
She waves a T-shirt at me—it’s the same one Max showed me.
“Not from the market.” I tuck her arm in mine. Max and Maple are practically climbing each other now, so odds are good we’re headed back to the resort soon.
Which is good. Alone with Hazel is exactly where I want to be.
As soon as we get back to the resort, however, Hazel kicks me out of our casita, citing “girl maintenance.” That means I’m not getting inside her anytime soon. I honestly don’t care about her bikini line, but it clearly matters to her so I make a bar run because a pitcher of margaritas seems like a good investment.
When she flip-flops her way across our pool deck toward me, I try to spot what’s different so I can compliment her, but there’s no obvious difference. She just looks fabulous. Her hair is slicked up on top of her head in a braid-twist thing that I itch to take apart and she’s wearing a pair of Marilyn Monroe–worthy sunglasses. She looks exotic and more than a little sexy. Plus, I’m a big fan of the caftan. It has little beads that clink as she walks and a neckline that plunges to her waist. It’s been brought to my attention that I don’t say what’s going on in my head. Apparently girls like to hear the spoken-word equivalent of the porn strip playing in there. It makes no sense to me, but I definitely like Hazel’s blue dress thing. Plus, it’s see-through. If she’d just lose the bikini she’s rocking underneath it and hop in the pool for some wet T-shirt action, I could die a happy man.
She beams at me, dropping a ginormous tote bag onto a lounger. “This place is amazing!”
She pulls a tube of coconut-scented sunscreen from her bag, wiggles out of the caftan and starts rubbing lotion into her skin.
“I can’t get my back.”
But I absolutely can. I would very much like to rub lotion into her skin, but it’s going to lead to other things very quickly and I’m not sure if she’s ready for more vacation sex, or if she actually wants to do other vacation things.
“If I ask nicely, can I help with that?”
She holds the tube out to me. “I love a helpful guy.”
I heave myself out of the pool, causing a small tidal wave. Hazel shrieks, and we wrestle for a minute—after even just a few minutes in the Cabo sun, she’s warm. Her body bucks beneath mine and I pin her, using my forearm to capture her arms over her head. I throw a leg over hers. Based on the state of my dick and the not-sun-related heat spreading through my body, it’s a good thing our villa has a private pool. We’d get kicked out of the main pool for public indecency.
We continue to half wrestle, half kiss, until Hazel hops off me and jumps in the water. I follow her to the pool’s edge. I’d like to be inside her, but apparently she’s in the mood to look at the ocean—from the shallow end, naturally.
“It’s really amazing,” she says.
“Uh-huh.” I kiss her ear. “I love this.”
I trace a path down her stomach and over the front of her bikini bottom. She inhales softly as I run a finger over the lacy panel.
“You’ll have to be quiet.”
“A challenge.”
I tug on the tie holding the side of her bikini together and the string comes free. Hazel’s hands grip the edge of the pool. I’m sure that if anyone on the beach looks up, she’ll just appear to be admiring the view. Only the two of us will know that my fingers are stroking between her legs.
I find her clit and circle it carefully, stroking the sides. Hazel loves it gentle, until she’s desperate to come, and then she wants it harder, rougher, faster. So right now I tease her with the pad of my finger, circling, drawing little patterns over her.
After all these weeks, I know what she likes. She moans my name loud enough to be heard in San Francisco. She’s close to coming, her body pushing down on mine, demanding more.
I kiss her ear. “Do you really want to sunbathe?”
She bites her lip. “What’s on the menu?”
“I’ll let you choose.” I don’t remove my hand—I have a very demanding boss to make happy. “Let me know if you need a hint.”
She turns around, sliding her arms around my neck. Her legs wrap around my waist and I’m pretty sure we’ve just abandoned her swimsuit bottom somewhere in the pool. It’s hard to kiss through laughter, but we manage, and I don’t even pretend to drop her as I carry her inside to the bed.
