Page 37 of All Bets Are Off

This time, I do laugh at out loud. Mimicking his own actions, I plant my hand over my eyes and spin away from him, staring into the darkness of my palm as I feel him get undressed behind me. My pulses beat with an odd sense of anticipation as I wait for the green light to turn back around. I’ve seen Theo without a shirt before, many years ago when we were teenagers hanging around in the pool in the Sinclairs’ back yard, and even then his abs were a sight to behold.

“Okay, I’m good,” Theo says, copying me, too.

With a small hitch of my breath, I turn around, and goddamn it.

I’m certain there is no hiding the way I blush when I see Theodore Sinclair standing in front of me in nothing but a pair of baby blue fitted boxers. His skin is so perfectly sun-kissed and tanned from working outdoors on construction sites in the Florida sunshine and there must be at least two extra abdominal muscles in his stomach that I don’t remember ever being there before.

“Would you like to touch them?” Theo asks, purposely flexing to define those stomach muscles of his. I’m not even admiring his abs, though—I’m now gawking at his biceps in alarm, wondering if perhaps this man is on steroids. There’s no way working in construction keeps him this fit. How many slabs of concrete can one person possibly lift? Even his quads are muscular. He definitely hits the gym hard.

“No,” I say simply. “It’s bedtime.”

I tear my eyes away from his body and tug him toward my bed, tossing display pillows to the floor and pulling back the thin sheets. The bed is crisp and cool beneath the AC as we clumsily climb in and get settled. I definitely drew the short straw tonight—it’s my dominant hand that’s handcuffed to Theo’s non-dominant one. I reach over and turn off the master switch for all the lights, plunging the hotel room into darkness.

We both lie there on our backs, listening to the white noise of the AC purring. My heart beats so heavily in my chest I’m convinced he must hear it. After a minute, I feel the tug of the handcuffs against my wrist as Theo adjusts himself—he shifts onto his side, facing me.

“Can I read it? Your book?” he asks in a low voice, like the quietness is too fragile to break.

“No.”

“Has anyone read it?”

“No one I actually know in real life,” I say. “Only the literary agents I submitted it to.”

He pauses for a beat, then softly says, “I’d love to read it, Hails.”

“I write romance, Theo,” I say with a nervous laugh. “I’d absolutely die if you read it.”

“Why? Are there sex scenes?”

I roll my eyes at the ceiling. “Yes, Theo, there are sex scenes.”

“Now I really want to read it.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I roll onto my side, too. Our handcuffed wrists rest in the small space between our chests, and my heartbeat quickens once more. “I’d never be able to look you in the eye again if you read it.”

He shifts ever so slightly closer to me, close enough that I feel the heat of his skin. “You can barely look me in the eye even now.”

“And how would you know that? It’s dark,” I point out, but I think I’ll stop breathing if I look at him.

“I just know, Hails. You’re shy around me.”

“I’m not shy,” I brazenly lie.

Through the darkness, Theo’s hand finds my jaw. His fingertips brush over the soft skin of my neck, and when he parts his lips to speak, the warmth of his breath makes me aware just how close his mouth is to mine.

“Hails. Look at me.”

And when I do, I’m not sure my heart is even beating anymore.

It is dark, but I can see his eyes—warm and shining and earnest, taking up my whole field of vision. I’m not sure I want to look away. Ever.

“If I told you I wanted to kiss you right now,” he murmurs, “what would you say?”

My entire body ignites with nerves, but not the scared kind—the excited kind. I nudge up closer, pressing my chest to his.

“I’d say . . .” I whisper, “this.”

And I don’t consider it for a moment longer—I press my lips to Theodore’s.