Becca rolled her eyes. “Hey, I didn’t come here to fight. I was just going to go over our date for tomorrow without the watchful eyes of Big Brother.”

“Hmm.” She was looking down at her feet. So I did what any desperate man who’d just been insulted in the worst way possible would do. I grabbed her feet, dragged her into the water, creating a huge splash, and then, when her head popped up for air, I gave her something else.

My tongue.

Kissing Becca could become a very nice, very addicting . . . pastime. Her lips were soft, pliant, but her hands were beating against my chest. Ah, classic move. Listen up, men: women fight us because they’re expected to. They have to put up the fight so they don’t come off as easy. So the next time a girl hits you in the chest, go with it, kiss her harder. It just means she wants more, especially when her chest is heaving and her tongue is doing . . . that. Yeah, exactly. Oh. Hell. Damn. Kill me now. When her tongue is doing that? Becca’s tongue pushed against mine and then she sucked.

I felt said sucking all the way through my body.

When she stopped fighting me, I wrapped my arms around her neck, pulling her as close against me as I could, and then pulled away.

Her eyes furrowed with confusion as she tried to lean forward.

I pulled back again, and swam her over to the ladder.

“Thanks, Becca,” I whispered. “I needed a little motivation.”

“M-motivation?”

“Game on.” I helped her up and followed. “And by the way . . .” I grabbed her hands and moved her flat palms from my chest all the way down to my waist. “I’m anything but feminine. Have a good night.” As I walked away, I did what any sane man would do. I paused so she could get her fill and realize that yes, I was, in fact, still naked. And when I heard her gasp, I turned around and saluted her in more ways than one.

Point. Max.

CHAPTER TWENTY

BECCA

I tossed and turned all night and finally woke up at six a.m. ready to march right over to Max’s hut and just . . . punch something. Not him. Because touching him meant . . . touching . . . him and I was pretty sure that after last night I would never be the same again.

His body was . . . tight.

Not just tight. It was tan and tight and . . . not . . . expected? Holy crap it was hot in my stupid hut! Where was the AC?

I tumbled out of bed and made my way on wobbly legs over to the sink to wash my face. Grumpy, one of my hut partners, was snoring so loud you’d think she’d wake herself up. Grumpy was also known as Shel, and no that wasn’t short for anything, and no it wasn’t a good idea to ask her because, well, Max hit it right on the head: she was super Grumpy.

She didn’t appear to be a huge fan of the tropics. At least from what I could tell.

I splashed water onto my face and my body.

It did nothing.

You know how visions just burn into your consciousness? Visions of Max . . . they wouldn’t leave! I tried everything! It seemed the harder I tried, the worse they got.

A knock sounded at the door.

I pulled it open and scowled.

“Aw, you’re so cute in the morning. Sleep marks on your face and everything.” Reid tilted his head to the side.

I glared. “How can I and my sleep-induced puffy face help you?”

“Hey.” Reid held up his hands. “You still look hot.”

“You’re letting mosquitoes in.” My eyes narrowed.

“They’re not out right now.” Reid crossed his arms, and a roguish grin formed across his lips. “Out late last night?”

“No,” I said quickly. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

“Hmm.” He leaned against the doorframe. “Interesting.”

“Did you need something?” I stepped forward, as if my small frame would do anything to push his six-foot, fully stacked muscular body anywhere.

“You offering?” His eyes did something I’d never seen eyes do. Seriously. I’d heard of guys who knew how to give the look, the “screw-me eyes,” but I’d never actually had those eyes directed at me.

“You slut.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Horrified, I slapped my hands over my face and groaned.

“Wow, you weren’t lying about being grumpy.”

“Go away, you bastard!” Shel yelled from her bed.

Reid peered around me, his face questioning.

“Naw, she’s Grumpy—as in, Max nicknamed her Grumpy—so that name’s already been taken. Sorry, champ.”

“Champ?” Reid’s feet shifted, he looked almost confused. “Did you just call me champ?”

“Uh, yeah? What did you need again?”

“You,” he whispered. “Only you.”

I leaned in so I could smell his breath. “Are you drunk?”

“What?” He reeled back. “No! Hell, no!”

“Then why are you hitting on me?”

“Why aren’t you liking it?”

“You’re serious?” Was this getting filmed? Maybe it was part of the show. I pushed his muscled chest away and peered around him. No cameras, nothing. Huh.

“Stop that.” He blocked my view with his body. “I’ve never had this . . . happen.” He scratched his head. “I’m . . . broken.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Holy shit.” He started pacing in front of me. “That’s it! She’s repelled my sex!”