screen depicted, in a highly visual and easily understood graphic, just how many vacancies Sweet Moon currently had.
“Not a problem,” he told her. “I already have a reservation.”
“Go elsewhere.” She carefully pressed the keys to activate her screensaver.
“Paid in full,” he added cheerfully.
Daeg was another Mr. Wrong, she was sure of it. He was as eager to roam as her father, although Mr. Wrong had never seemed so sexy. Or so tempting. Still, since she’d already been burned once, she wasn’t looking for a ring from Daeg Ross, but she could have a few nights—or weeks—of really hot sex.
Maybe celibacy wasn’t the answer.
Maybe it was like if she gorged herself on sweet things, her brain—and her stomach—would get the message. Too much sugar made you sick. Although was it possible to even have too much sex?
Daeg’s presence took up the entire room. Those broad shoulders beneath the faded cotton T-shirt and powerful forearms did a number on her senses. He was tanned from spending time outdoors—in the water—and she wanted to explore him inch by inch and see just how far that sun-kissed goodness went.
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re stuck with me, Dani. Face it.”
Being stuck with Daeg Ross was a fantasy come true, she had to admit. He was 100 percent sexual satisfaction and she should refund his money. Instead, she was calculating the odds of sharing some mind-blowing time with him.
Those were some heated odds.
“Sweet Moon runs the risk of being stuck with you,” she corrected, turning back to her computer to divert her wild imagination back to safer ground. “Very temporarily.”
* * *
DANI ANDREWS DIDN’T walk away from him this time.
She was direct. No games. Daeg liked that. He’d know exactly where he stood with her...on his way out of here, if she had her choice.
He also counted one, two...three laptops in addition to the outdated desktop model, bookended by a stack of computer manuals half as tall as Dani was. Precisely organized cans of mechanical pencils and stacks of Post-it notes marched down the right side of her workspace. She’d transformed Sweet Moon’s front desk into her own command center. Tag would love it. He’d kissed a computer nerd.
A computer nerd who believed she could get rid of him.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yes.” She went right back to working on her computer as if their conversation was done. “You are.” Her index finger hit the return key with a particularly vicious downstroke. “There are multiple other places on Discovery, all with vacancies. Pick one and I’ll transfer your reservation.”
She pushed and he’d pull.
“No.” He leaned in closer. “I have a reservation already. Right here.”
“Canceled.” She pointed toward the door. “Your exit awaits.”
He snorted. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“Funny,” she said sweetly. “It’s never been difficult before.”
He wanted to kiss her again. To hold her in his arms and tuck her protectively in place. He wouldn’t give in to that urge, but it was hard. He liked her fiery, liked the snap in her eyes and the outrage pinking her cheeks. She noticed him when he made her mad and he could do something with that.
“Are you referring to earlier today—or to our last date, ten years ago?”
She didn’t answer his question. Instead, she just hit him with a fact. “That wasn’t a date.”
“Near enough. You, me, a romantic stroll on the beach. Our first kiss.”
That night was a lost opportunity. If he could have, he’d shake himself for letting her get away, even if she’d been so very young and the possibilities had scared him. He was older now. Fear had no place in his life. And he definitely wasn’t letting her get away again.
“I can stand here all afternoon. And let me repeat, you are not getting rid of me that easily.”
* * *
DAEG WAS LIKE a tidal wave that kept on coming. And he was right. He had a reservation, and Sweet Moon couldn’t afford to pass on a paying customer. Somehow she’d survive his—she checked the computer again—six-week stay. She grabbed a key off the hook on the wall and stood up.
“Cal booked the bungalow,” he offered, backing away from the counter so she could step around it without crashing into him. Now that he’d won this battle, his words sounded like some sort of consolation prize. Too bad she wasn’t feeling conciliatory.
“I’ll do my best to get over it,” she said drily. She pushed open the door, stepping outside, and he followed. Too close. Too large. Heat radiated off that powerful body. She needed to establish who was in charge here. This was her motel. Her space. Not his.
His boots crunched over the gravel as he walked beside her, and she practiced the fine art of denial by busying herself with the room key. Number eight. Good. Six cabins between herself and temptation.
Stepping up onto the porch, she slid the key into the lock with a practiced flick of her wrist. “Here you go. Number eight. Well, good luck with everything. It was nice seeing you again.”
Duty done, she tried to back away, but she came into contact with a hard male chest. That kernel of anger she’d been nursing since he’d shown up at Sweet Moon’s office grew. He didn’t get to come here and do as he pleased.
He’d had his chance ten years ago and he hadn’t taken it.
“Show me the room.” That husky rumble in her ear made her think about kissing him again—and more. He wasn’t touching her, not really, but he could. The question was, did she want him to?
Temptation beckoned.
She stepped into the room and glanced around. “Meet your cabin,” she announced. “One bed, 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.”
