CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

BECCA

I didn’t have time to regret sleeping with Max—and it was all the goat’s fault. I opened my eyes and rubbed them, then tried to lean up and yawn. The minute my hands reached above my head the goat made a noise and then huffed at me. Okay, so I finally understood why Max had been so terrified. The damn thing could sense my terror or something!

“Max,” I hissed, smacking him in the shoulder. It really was a shame waking him up. His dark tan looked so . . . pretty against the white sheets. I wanted to stare. Again, let’s revisit, he was beautiful. A beautiful man I’d had the pleasure of exploring all night long.

Not once.

Not twice.

Three times.

So not only was I officially a whore, but I’d gone and done the ONE THING I’d sworn to myself I’d never do. I’d had a one-night stand with a guy who in the heat of the moment made promises to me, but outside of that moment, nothing. We weren’t even really dating. For crying out loud, we were on a dating show! And he was going to be kissing other girls today. Four of them!

Crap, I really should have thought things through.

But then Max had gotten naked, and his kisses had made me forget everything but the moment, and I’d wanted to hang on to it forever.

“Stop biting your nails,” Max grumbled, his eyes still closed. “And stop staring at me. And stop hitting me with your pillow. I get it—it’s morning. No need to keep reminding me over and over again.”

“Aw, you remind me of my roommate.”

“No!” Max’s eyes burst open. “She’s a terrible excuse for a human being and most likely put Jason in a thumb cast last night.”

“Thumb cast?” I repeated.

“Hey, you’re naked.” Max reached for me.

I slapped his hand away.

“Ouch.” Max grinned. “But it’s cool, I’ll play.”

I rolled my eyes. “Hades is upset.”

“Uh, wouldn’t you be upset too? He lives with dead people.”

“Max,” I warned.

“Fine, why’s the goat upset? And how do you suddenly read minds? Holy shit, did you read my mind last night? Is that why you did that thing with your tongue, because I have to admit—it was hot.”

“Max!” And I was officially bright red. “We can’t . . . I mean, we can’t do that again . . .”

“Define that.” Max pulled me into his arms and kissed my mouth. “Or better yet, can you show me?” He easily moved on top of me so our bodies were literally inches from being joined again. “Or how about”—he leaned down and kissed me softly between my breasts—“I just keep guessing until you moan, or yell or say yes Max, no Max, more Max—”

“Max, you better not be talking to that goat!” Reid shouted.

Max froze on top of me.

I froze beneath him.

We shared one look and I dove under the covers.

Max propped up the pillows around him and fluffed the bed just as the door to the hut swung open.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

MAX

Son of a possessed goat. I was screwed. Oh, wait, no, that’s what I would have been doing had my satanic brother not knocked on my door and barged in.

Becca moved slightly, her face planted against my stomach. Her breath hot on my skin. Shit, I was in a bad place, a very bad place. She would be the death of me and the last thing I needed was for Reid to think I was getting all hot and bothered because Hades had eaten another pair of my underwear.

“ ’Sup, Bro?” I tried to act casual as I placed my hands behind my head and exhaled.

Reid’s eyes narrowed. “You look funny.”

“I just woke up.” I faked a yawn. “You’re no perfect male specimen in the mornings either, my friend.”

“Right.” Reid looked around the room, his eyes wildly searching for something. “Have you seen Becca? I went to her hut to remind her about the morning confessional and also make sure she knew what time her date with you was, but she was gone.”

I shrugged. “Maybe she died.”

Becca pinched me in the ass.

My body jerked.

“Maybe. She. Died.” Reid repeated, his eyes narrowing more and more by the second.

“I was kidding!” I laughed nervously. “She’s probably just . . . swimming. You know.” My throat was drier than the desert. “With the fish.”

“Becca hates fish.”

“She hates sharks,” I corrected. “Fish aren’t sharks. Do you even watch the Discovery Channel when I turn it on?”

“Swimming, huh?”

“Yeah, she loves swimming, one of her favorite things to do, next to, you know . . .” Me, HA! “Art.”

“Art?” Reid looked confused. “What kind of art does she do?”

I can neither confirm nor deny that Becca was actively squeezing something that should never be squeezed in that way. Ever. And I do mean. Ever. Ever. Ever. “Er . . . she does nude art.”

And the squeeze just got worse. I kicked my feet, hoping to land one on her, but she kept squeezing.

“Nude art?” Reid laughed. “Wow, that’s kind of hot.”

“Everything about Becca’s hot.” I shrugged.

The squeezing stopped. Hey, I’d done something right!

“You really like her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, man, I really do. She’s . . . incredible.”