Naked Thrill. Jill Monroe
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you can look now.”
When he finally faced her, she sat cross-legged on the largest bed he’d ever seen. The monstrous thing was situated on a platform with filmy white fabric draped across the top of the bed’s four posts. Rose petals lay scattered and crushed on the floor and trapped in the bedding. Discarded towels led to another platform complete with a heart-shaped hot tub. Alarm clenched his gut.
“Are we in the honeymoon suite?” he asked.
“Don’t you remember?” she asked.
He slumped on the edge of the mattress. “I don’t remember anything. You?”
She shook her head. Then a line formed between her brows. “But you smiled at me this morning. Like you were—” she swallowed “—pleased.”
“How’s a man supposed to look when he wakes up to a beautiful naked woman plastered against him? Repulsed?”
“I guess not.” She hugged the silky sheet to her chest like a life jacket, the ends wrapped around her sweet body. Her full lips were set in a line. Yeah, there’d be no repeat glimpses of the soft curves that had been pressed against him so sweetly only moments before.
Even though she was fully hidden, she glanced everywhere but at his face. He liked that she was shy in the morning. Kind of cute. Then his beautiful stranger lowered her gaze and gasped, quickly averting her eyes.
“I can’t believe it.”
Yep, she’d spotted his hard cock. “I did warn you that you weren’t going to like it if I gave you the sheet.”
“Can you please just find your pants?” She peered left then right. “Shouldn’t there be a blanket or a comforter around this place? I can’t have a conversation with you both looking at me.”
Obviously the woman wasn’t used to one-night stands. Neither was he, for that matter, but he seemed to be handling it a lot better than she was. “It’s not my fault that I woke up next to a gorgeous and naked woman.”
“Here.” She tossed him a pillow. Very hard. Aimed straight for his crotch.
He caught it at his waist. “Careful.”
She lifted a brow. “Really? It’s a pillow.”
“I wasn’t expecting a Spartan-warrior throw.”
“Well, Spartans have no place for weakness,” she told him, her voice just a notch above a grumble.
He laughed. “Now I know why I picked you up last night. It’s a special kind of woman who can quote ancient lore. Okay, now that we’re both fully covered, I’m Anthony Garcia, by the way. Documentary filmmaker from California.”
“Hayden.”
“Hayden, what?”
She shook her head. “No last name until I know more about you.”
“Fair enough.” He backed up a step, but wariness still flickered in the dark green depths of her eyes. Doubt about him. That he wasn’t one of the good guys. Tony flinched.
The cords of his neck tightened. How many times had he been on the receiving end of this exact look? Dozens. Hell, probably hundreds. From teachers. Probably every authority figure he’d come into contact with over the course of his life. Even his own mother. None of them had thought he’d make something of himself. And if Hayden had met him six years ago, she’d be right to flash him that cautious glance.
But he wasn’t that Anthony Garcia anymore. And he wanted to prove that to her. “Everyone calls me Tony.”
Hayden. He liked knowing her name. And when he got her last name—and he would—he’d show her she had nothing to fear from him.
“And Tony?”
Just the sound of his name on her lips made him need a bigger pillow. Since when had a woman saying “Tony” got him hard? Of course, he’d been working like a dog lately wrapping up the filming of his latest documentary on the cowhands of the Texas plains while researching his next project. There’d been no time for soft curves and sweet smiles.
But obviously he’d decided to end his self-imposed dry spell last night. And it must have been some night. Dammit, why couldn’t he remember?
Hayden was the kind of woman a man remembered until he was old and stooped and walking with a cane, and thoughts of her could still put a spring in his step.
“Weren’t you going to look for your pants?” Her voice cut into his thoughts.
“Right.”
Hayden the Mysterious wanted some space, which he understood and would respect because he wasn’t a dick. Not anymore. He backed away and once he reached the bathroom, he closed the door behind him with a solid click.
But no clothes were strewn across the tiles or piled in a corner. There were more used towels thrown in a heap on the bathroom floor, though. And the shower was wet. Rose-scented soap rested inside a dish, and he imagined rubbing that soap all over Hayden’s body. Her breasts, down her sides and over her ass. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed through his mouth.
What the hell was the matter with him? He was supposed to be giving her space. Not fantasizing about her beneath the jets of the shower. With a final deep breath he opened his eyes and spotted one lone folded towel on a wooden shelf in the corner of the bathroom. He may not have any answers for Hayden—or himself—yet, but at least he could put her more at ease by covering up. He wrapped the towel around his waist.
Tony wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t already taken off. Bolted away from him as fast as she could given she was wrapped in nothing but a sheet. The idea filled him with panic. Had he already blown his chance to prove to her that he was a good guy? That whatever he had done, he could make it right for her? “Hayden?” he called.
“Yes?”
He blew out a breath of relief.
“No luck in finding our clothes in there?” she asked.
“No, just a couple of empty bottles of apple cider vinegar.” He opened the door. “That’s weird, right?”
“Maybe not. It’s kind of hip right now to rinse your hair with the stuff.” She made a sniffing sound. “Come to think of it, I smell it in the air.”
“So that’s what I’ve been smelling,” he said as he joined her. “Sweet and yet—”
“Almost too strong.”
“Exactly.”
She’d moved around the cabin as she waited for him and now stood in front of the large fieldstone fireplace, staring at the dark ash. They must have lit a fire last night, as warmth still emanated from the firebox.
“Looks like we’re in a cabin in the woods. I didn’t see a car out front. Or our shoes. I’m not sure how we even got here. But there’s the key,” she told him in a rush, angling her head toward a set of keys on a gold heart-shaped ring on a pink drop-leaf table.
He crossed the room to stand beside her. The softness of her shoulder brushed against his arm, but he would not be distracted.
“Do you see that?” Hayden pointed at something shiny in the cinders.
“Might be one of those metal hooks they put on clothes.”
“Yeah, and I think that’s the underwire from my bra.”
“Why would you burn your bra?”
“Exactly, not my generation.”
“Hmm?”
“Never mind. Bad joke.” Hayden shook her head. “I really have no idea. Ugh, and that was my favorite bra, too.”
“Aren’t all bras good?”
She