Safe and Sound (The Safe House Series Book 3) by Leslie North Page A

she found a balled-up beach towel, a wrapped cricket-infused protein bar— Ew —a turquoise Blue Moon staff shirt too small for her to sausage her boobs into, and a mismatched pair of old sneakers.
    Max fared better with the unit of rental lockers. A pair of men’s cargo shorts and a ladies swimsuit cover up, more sheer and netting than any real cover, but it was dry and inviting.
    She laid the ground rules. “No peeking.”
    “Really? After last night?”
    “No peeking,” she reiterated.
    “Fine.” His tone was placating, just this side of amused.
    They turned their backs to each other. She stripped out of her wet dress and donned the swimsuit cover like the tinder around them had reached an inferno and the only solution was to wring her dress over the flames. He moved more slowly, casually removing every last stitch of clothing before stepping into the dry shorts.
    She knew because she peeked.
    Sweet McGinger hottie did she ever.
    Lola told herself she stole a glance because trust had been a thing for them. A non-thing, actually. How could she be sure he kept his word unless she supervised him? Not once did he turn around. The perfect gentleman. Guilt weighed on her shoulders like a soaked lifejacket, soon replaced by a force as powerful as the first wave in a tsunami: Max Sterling’s buff backside—glorious red hair to heels. Nothing but skin and ass dimples that chiseled glutes and muscles for days. Weeks. Years.
    “Like the view?”
    Her gaze shifted, albeit reluctantly, first to his gleaming white grin then to his pointer finger. A full-length mirror hung from the side wall at a perfect angle to catch her betrayal red-handed. He took his sweet, leisurely time yanking the khaki fabric over his butt, commando-style. And laughing.
    Wait…
    Mirrors reflected both ways.
    She turned to him, fully sheathed but feeling completely exposed. “You saw—”
    “No more than you willingly showed me yesterday.”
    “Truth?”
    “No. I saw everything.”
    Blood rushed to her face. Had she not dried her face against the material before slipping it over her head, the droplets would have steamed off her cheeks like a teakettle on full scream. She wanted to crawl inside the nearest kayak, face down.
    “Hey,” he said, loud enough to overcome the rain. He took her hands in his and tugged her closer. “I’m sorry. But I’m not sorry.”
    Lola stared at his chest, lost in the contour of a particularly impressive pectoral muscle. Her breasts would have hung heavy, and she might have pulled in her stomach had she known. His body was so perfect in every conceivable way. She was still that fifteen-year-old girl who saw only imperfections.
    “Look at me.”
    She couldn’t. So he raised his wide, firm hand beneath her chin and tipped her gaze higher, higher, until she had no choice but to meet his warm gaze.
    “The only thing stopping me from doing more than just peeking— way more—is my word last night. I am nothing without my word.”
    His thumb grazed her chin, a small hot sun against her already-scorching face. He pulled her into his arms. She couldn’t decide if he meant his embrace to soften the blow of not making love to her or because he wasn’t yet ready to let her go. When he released her and announced he was going to look for something to warm them, she knew his hug had been all about raising her body temperature. Nothing more.
    He disappeared into the equipment room. She crawled inside a canoe that had been left on the cement floor and pulled her knees to her chest. For the first time in hours, it occurred to her she could have run away. A hundred times she had viable opportunity to escape. But he had asked her what she would do, without any responsibilities, and her mind had reached a resounding conclusion, over and over again. She would spend more time in his company, in whatever form that took. He made her feel independent, free, protected.
    Desired.
    Despite her flaws, his hot gaze had returned to her