“Oh, there’s a great idea if I’ve ever heard one. Let’s think about this. It's pitch dark, the lake has drop-offs, and you’re wasted. You would drown and take me under with you. So the answer is no, we’re not going skinny-dipping. Are you out of your mind? The house has air-conditioning, so you’ll survive.”

Certain he was going to keep giving me a hard time, I put my hand on his back and practically shove him inside the house. Slamming the door behind us, I lock the deadbolt to keep him from running right back out again.

After sitting him down in a chair at the kitchen table, I reach for a bottle of aspirin in the cabinet.

“You’re going to have a massive hangover tomorrow.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t get them.”

“Lucky you. So I’m guessing you do this often?”

He doesn’t answer me.

I shake out two aspirin anyway and pour him a glass of water.

“Here,” I say, handing them to him. “Swallow these and drink the whole glass. Maybe the water will dilute the gallons of alcohol flooding your bloodstream.”

Surprisingly, he does exactly what I tell him to do without arguing. When I turn to walk away, he grabs my hand and tugs me down onto his lap. I try to push against his arms and instead of turning me loose, he tightens his grip.

“Do you like sitting in my lap?” he mumbles into my hair.

I hide a smile because encouraging him is the last thing I want to do.

“I don’t know, because I’ve never sat in your lap before.”

“Are you sure?” he asks doubtfully.

“Pretty sure I would remember it.”

“Maybe I dreamed it then,” he says. “Because I like it.”

His hand strokes my calf then slides up my bare thigh to rest on my ass. I try to ignore the heat coming off his skin through the thin shirt or how good his muscular arms feel wrapped around my back.

Yeah, I like sitting on his lap. Too much.

Sam leans closer and nuzzles my neck.

“You smell sweet. Like shampoo. And your skin is so soft.”

He slides his fingers under the side rim of my panties and caresses my hip.

Oh mercy!

This is good and not good.

It’s hard enough trying to resist cocky, devilish Sam. Fending off drunk, sweet Sam with warm, roving hands is even worse. Maybe it’s my imagination, but his hands feel like they’re everywhere at the same time.

I wrap my hand around his wrist to stop him before he goes any further.

“Okay, buddy. Keep your hands above the waist.”

He chuckles into my neck and immediately slides his hand up my shirt to cup my braless breast. My nipple responds instantly to his touch, hardening into a thick bud.

Bad choice of words.