Wallbanger(88)

“Stuffing my face? Seriously? You were stealing my churros. I told you to get your own when we stopped!”

“Wel , I wasn’t hungry at first, but then you were smacking your lips and licking that chocolate, and wel …I got distracted.” He looked up from the

map, which he’d spread out on the hood of the car, and grinned, breaking the tension.

“Distracted?” I grinned back, leaning a little closer. As he looked at the map, I looked at him. How could someone who’d been on a plane for

the last hundred years look as good as he did? But there he was, faded jeans, black T-shirt, dark blue North Face jacket. Twenty-four hours of

stubble begging to be licked. Who licked stubble? Me, that’s who. He braced himself on his arms as he studied the map, his lips moving silently as

he tried to figure it out. I snuck underneath his arms, draping myself across the hood of the car as shamelessly as a pinup girl in a garage calendar.

“Can I make a suggestion?”

“It is a lewd suggestion?”

“Surprisingly no. Can we please turn on the GPS? I’d like to make it there before I have to leave in a few days,” I moaned. Due to my last-

minute booking, I had to fly back a day before Simon. But five days in Spain…I was not complaining.

“Caroline, only pussies use GPS,” he scoffed, turning to the map again.

“Wel , this pussy is dying for some dinner, and a shower, and a bed, and to get rid of this jet lag. So unless you want to see me reenact It

Happened One Night, Spanish version, turn on the GPS, Simon.” I grabbed him by the North Face and pul ed him down to me. “Did that sound

harsh?” I whispered, giving him the tiniest of kisses on the chin.

“Yes, I’m terrified of you now.”

“Does this mean GPS?”

“It means GPS.” He sighed resignedly, leaning back and pul ing me off the car with him. I gave a little cheer and started for the door.

“No, no, no, you were harsh, Nightie Girl. I’m gonna need some sugar,” he instructed, eyes twinkling.

“You need some sugar?” I asked.

He tugged on my arm, bringing me back to him. “Yes, I require it.”

“You’re twisted, Simon.” I leaned into him, slipping my arms around his neck.

“You have no idea.” He licked his lips and waggled his eyebrows like an old-timey gangster.

“Come get your sugar,” I teased as he brought his lips to mine.

I would never get tired of kissing Simon. I mean, how could you? Since the night he “truthed” me right up on to my kitchen counter, we’d slowly

been exploring this new side of our relationship. Underneath al the snark and spark, there’d been some serious sexual tension building these many

months. And we were letting it al out—albeit slowly. Sure, we could’ve raced right back to the bedroom that night and let the sex ring out across the



city for days, but Simon and I, without saying a word, seemed to be on the same page for once, and were content to let this unfold.

He was wooing me. And I was letting him woo. I wanted the woo. I deserved the woo. I needed the wow that would surely fol ow the woo, but for

now, the woo? It was whoa.

And speaking of woo…

My hands slipped into his hair, tugging and twisting and trying to pul his entire body inside my own. He groaned into my mouth, I felt his tongue

touch mine, and I fel apart at the seams. I sighed, the tiniest whimper, and it became harder and harder to kiss him due to the giant grin overtaking

my face.

He pul ed back a little and laughed. “You sure look happy.”

“Keep kissing me, please,” I insisted, bringing his face back to mine.

“It’s like kissing a jack ’o’ lantern. What’s with the grin?” He smiled down at me with a grin that looked as wide as my own.

“We’re in Spain, Simon. Grinning is implied.” I sighed contentedly, messing with his hair.

“And here I thought it was al to do with my kissing,” he answered, kissing me again, gently, sweetly.

“Okay, cowboy, ready to see where the GPS takes us?” I asked, stepping away. I couldn’t keep my hands on him for too long or we’d never

leave.

“Let’s see how lost we real y are.” He smiled and we were on our way.

“I think this is the turn…Yep, this is it,” he said.

I bounced in my seat. Turned out we were closer than we thought, and we’d gotten a bit antsy. As we made one last turn, we looked at each

other, and I squealed. We’d seen bits of the ocean for the last few miles or so—peeking out behind a stand of trees or over a cliff. Now, as we

turned down a tiny cobblestone drive, the realization that Simon had rented a house not just near the beach, but on the beach washed over me, and