Mrs. Cross. Maybe not for much longer.
I trail after Dane down the jet bridge and onto the plane. He shoves his duffel into the overhead compartment and reaches back to take my carry-on and stow it. Even when he’s pissed, apparently thinking about divorcing me, Dane still has manners.
“Window or aisle?” He makes eye contact with my shoulder when he asks.
“Whichever you don’t want.”
“You can have the window.”
“Are you sure—”
“Kat, take the window.” His jaw barely moves as the words come from between clenched teeth.
He steps back so I can slide into the row and tuck my purse under the seat ahead of me.
“You want your laptop out of your carry-on?” he asks as he steps out of the aisle to allow more travelers to pass.
My tone is hushed when I reply. “I don’t have it.”
Disbelief is stamped all over his face. “What?”
“I didn’t bring it.”
“You didn’t bring it.” He says the words slowly, as though he’s attempting a phrase in Swahili.
His shock isn’t surprising. I even brought my laptop on our honeymoon. I don’t remember the last time I went somewhere without it. Probably before I started the company, the week I met Dane . . .
*
Two and a half years ago
Holy. Shit.
They were the only two words my brain could conjure. Okay, not the only two, because there was definitely an F-bomb in between them.
Holy. Effing. Shit.
The straw in my coconut drink, some kind of rum deliciousness only Mexico could come up with, fell to the side as my mouth dropped open.
The most gorgeous man I’d ever seen strode out of the ocean like a tatted-up Greek god. Call it cliché all you want, but this man . . . Wow.
A snorkel and mask dangled from one hand as he wiped the water off his face with the other. Every inch of his perfectly built body was lean, muscled, and tanned golden bronze. And then there was the ink wrapping up his arm and spilling onto his chest. When he shook his head and water flew from his short dark hair, my heart slammed into my ribs.
“Holy shit . . .” Benjie, my best friend, said from the chair beside me.
“Mine. Mine. I’m calling it.” I flung out my arm to cover his eyes so he couldn’t get any ideas, but I misjudged the distance and knocked Benjie’s drink all over his lap.
“Damn, girl!” Benjie jumped up from his chaise lounge and spun toward me. “Watch yourself. Besides, we both know you don’t get to call it. You wouldn’t even know what to do with it.”
I sucked in an outraged breath and bolted to my feet. Rum deliciousness sloshed over the edge of the coconut, splashing my skin and soaking into my bikini top.
Benjie’s gaze zeroed in on the freezing-cold drink dripping from my cleavage. I knew he wasn’t looking at my now very prominent nipples because he liked boys and not boobs.
And so do I, dammit.
“Take it back. I do so know what to do with it.” Since I was mildly intoxicated, I didn’t realize my voice was carrying.
“Oh, really?” Benjie dropped a hand to his hip. “Tell me. Right here, right now. What would you do with that sexy piece of tattooed man meat? In detail.”
“I’d . . . I’d . . .” I stammered like an idiot, trying to come up with something that would shock Benjie into conceding.
I was thinking so hard, the fact that his gaze darted over my shoulder didn’t register. Or maybe it was the three coconut drinks I’d had earlier that stole my observational skills.
“I’m waiting,” he said, taunting me.
“I’d ride him so hard, he’d need a new saddle when I was done.” I raised my coconut in salute, a little too enthusiastically.
The remaining liquid went flying in a backward arc, and a low, soft curse came from behind me. I spun around, coming face-to-face with my newly claimed stallion.
“Oh God,” I whispered.
Instead of water dripping from his face, the remains of my drink now trickled down his cheek.
“I think this is yours.” He lifted the hibiscus flower that had decorated my coconut off his inked forearm and offered it to me.
I stared at him, not moving to take it, probably because my brain had stopped communicating with the rest of my body due to stimulus overload.
Benjie nudged me from behind. “Take the flower, Kitty Kat.”
The man’s intense brown eyes, so dark they were almost black, darted from my face to Benjie’s.
“You’re gonna let another man give your girl a flower?”
Holy hell, his voice. Deep, delicious, and all man.
“Psh, I’d let you give her the D right here on the beach if you asked. God knows she needs it more than I do,” Benjie said in a tone that made me want to throat-punch him.
Way to throw me under the bus, Ben-Ben.
The guy’s eyes widened, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure how he was going to respond.
And then it happened. Rumbling laughter. His whole body got involved, but not a single ounce of him jiggled. No, this hard-bodied man simply vibrated with humor.
It was the best sight-sound combination I’d ever witnessed.
When it faded away, he reached out and tucked the still beautiful hibiscus behind my ear. “I’d rather start by taking her to dinner.”
I shook my head. “We’re on vacation together, so—”
Benjie cut me off. “And I already kinda made plans to meet up with that bartender at seven. She’s all yours.”
I spun around to look at him. “What?”
“Bros before hos,” he said, attempting an innocent tone but coming off like the jackass I knew and loved.
“Seriously?”
“Love you, but I, too, love the D.” He winked.
“I’ll pick you up at your room at seven then,” the stranger said.
“Kat’s in number twelve.” Benjie offered the information since I’d suddenly gone mute.