This wasn’t like her. In her group of friends, Dani was definitely the prude. The girl most likely to smile politely at the X-rated jokes she didn’t get and blush while reading the erotic romances she bought in secret.
She’d never even been able to buy her own personal massagers. Her two bedside accessories had been gag gifts that she’d used so often they now needed to be replaced. But she knew herself well enough to know she’d suffer in silence until one of her friends got engaged and were in need of a bachelorette party to resupply. There was no way she could order one for herself.
A prude and a chicken.
It wasn’t like she wasn’t into physical affection or didn’t believe in the healing power of touch. She was big on friendly hugs and platonic touching, but when it came to intimacy, she had a tendency to panic. It had always been like that, but her last relationship had solidified the worst of her repressive tendencies. So much so that she hadn’t been interested in dating in over a year. At all.
Part of her hoped it would be a permanent condition, because wouldn’t that make life a million times easier? She’d never have to worry about shaving unless she felt like it, or obsess over the cellulite on her thighs. It sounded like heaven. But recently, her hormones and horny subconscious had mounted a full-scale rebellion against her extended celibacy without her permission, and those damned dreams had been the result.
Two men. One she didn’t recognize, and another who was the only man she’d ever completely trusted. The one currently handling her spider problems and her ass. The one with the big, firm grip.
Stop. Thinking. About. His. Hands.
It would help if he said something. “What’s it doing, Liam? Hypnotizing you? Laying eggs on your face? What?”
He laughed at that. “What do you think it’s doing?”
She frowned against his arm. “You’re the one staring at it.” And touching me. Why are you still touching me?
“You said it was big?”
“I said giant,” she clarified, eyes narrowing when his shoulders started to shake. He was still laughing? “The size of my old dog, Bitsy. And it has fangs, Liam. I know this place belongs to your friend, but I don’t think we have a choice now. We have to burn it all down and live in the desert. You mentioned a waiter at the resort that needed to sell his yurt last week.”
“Shortbread,” he started gently, using the nickname he’d given her years ago. “He already sold it, but I think we’re fine where we are. There’s nothing there.”
“What?” Her gaze automatically returned to the last place she’d seen it. Then to every corner of the bathroom. “What the heck? It was a mutant, Liam. I doubt it could shimmy down the drain without getting stuck. Where did it go?”
“Was it bigger than the lizard that got into your bedroom a few months ago?”
“Yes, it was bigger than the damn lizard,” she grumbled, shuddering with remembered distaste.
That time she’d called for him and he’d found her standing on her bed, clutching a lamp in terror. In her defense, the tiny thing had slithered its way under her sheets. It touched her skin. How was she supposed to react to that? It wasn’t her fault nature kept attacking her.
At least she’d been wearing her pajama shorts.
“Hmm.”
She scowled at the sound. “Do you think I’m overreacting or lying? Which one is it, tough guy?”
His smile wavered. “This feels like a trap.”
He hadn’t believed her about the lizard either, not until it crawled over his toes and he jumped about a foot in the air. She would pay good money to have her spider plop down on his head right about now. More if she could record it and play it back for him every time he acted like a dick. “It is a trap. Choose wisely.”
Liam straightened to his full his six-foot-four, wiping his free hand over his wet face with a nod. “Fine. Do I believe that you took a shower with a dog-sized spider that can camouflage itself like the hunter in Predator? Sure. Why wouldn’t I believe something like that?”
He did not choose wisely.
“You aren’t even wearing your glasses,” she managed lamely, promising to think of a better come back later. “It could have done cartwheels right in front of you without you noticing.”
“I’m not that blind.” His eyebrows shot to his hairline. “And I was making coffee and cleaning my glasses when you started auditioning for a horror movie up here, so they got left behind. You got the part, by the way. That took about a year off my life. Way to commit.”
Making coffee was his first activity of the day. Which meant, as usual, he’d just stumbled out of bed looking like a walking fantasy come to life in nothing but half-unbuttoned jeans and a smile. He smelled good, too. Mint toothpaste and warm, sleepy man. She was glad he was being such a guy. Otherwise he’d be irresistible.