Martha leaned her head on his shoulder. “You would have had fun doing this together.”

He pulled her closer. “He would have liked you.”

Warmth rushed through her. “I wish I’d met him.”

“He would have flirted with you and pointed out that he was way more interesting than me.”

She looked up at him and her heart beat faster because she was absolutely sure she wouldn’t have found his brother more interesting than him. “I’m sure I would. We would have laughed together, and he wouldn’t have bored me with facts or left his pizza crusts. We would have bonded over broccoli.”

He stroked her shoulder. “My brother used to tease me for always planning ahead. He always missed flights because he could never get himself to the airport on time. One year he was a day late to Thanksgiving because he’d left the travel to chance. ‘Just catch the wave’, he used to say.”

The setting sun turned the rocks burnt orange and the sky fiery red.

She turned and slid her arms round his neck. “Is that what we’re doing? Catching the wave?”

“Maybe.” He slid his fingers under her chin and lifted her face to his. “What do you think? Are you going to catch this wave, Martha?”

“Yes.” It came out as a whisper. “To get my confidence back, you understand.”

“Sure. What other reason would there be?” His mouth was so close to hers they were almost kissing, but not quite.

The suspense of that almost kiss, the burning anticipation, was more erotic than any actual kiss she’d experienced.

He lifted his hand and brushed his fingers over her cheek. “My room or yours?”

“Which is closest?”

“Yours. But that’s next door to Kathleen.”

“Good point. My room. In case she comes looking for me in the night.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That would make for an interesting conversation.”

He kissed her briefly, a heated hint of things to come and then he grabbed her hand and they virtually sprinted back to her room. She could taste the urgency in the air and feel it in the tightness of his grip. She wanted him with a desperation that crossed the borders of decency.

Desperation made her clumsy, and when they finally reached the door she fumbled with the lock and dropped the key. “I hate keys. I can’t—”

“I’ve got it.” He retrieved the key and thrust it into the lock, but before they could step inside he grabbed her shoulder. “Wait. Are you sure, Martha? Answer quickly.” His tense jaw was a sign of the self-restraint he was exercising, and it made her feel better about her own out-of-control response.

“Yes. I’m a great decision maker, didn’t you know that? I never doubt myself.” She tugged him into the room, kicked the door shut behind her and pulled him against her. “Come on you meat-eating, broccoli-avoiding, water-hating but seriously hot guy—”