“Is this post-mortem a doctor thing?” He rolled onto his side, looking at her, and she could hear the lazy amusement coloring his voice. He thought she was being funny. He reached out a hand and curved his fingers around her thigh. She should have looked for those panties. “Lie down.”
“Tell me what I didn’t get one hundred percent right. I’m serious.” She swung her feet up onto the bed and scooted toward him. She should probably get up and wash her feet first so she didn’t get sand or something worse on the duvet. Why did hotels always choose white? It was so impractical.
He stroked his fingers over her thigh, nudging the robe out of the way. She made a face and flicked his fingers. Another inch and she’d forget her talking points. “Start talking.”
He sighed. “You were perfect.”
“Right.” He looked serious...she’d give him that.
He tugged on the end of her sash. “Did you hear me complaining?”
“I’m not asking for complaints. I’m asking for feedback.” Complaints were personal, him blowing off frustration or unhappiness, while feedback was actionable. Something she could fix or improve on.
“Uh-huh.” He parted the front of her robe and trailed a hand over her waist, clearly not interested in a vocabulary lesson.
“I want to know.” She was the best doctor in the ER chute, and she’d managed that by studying hard and learning from her mistakes. Failure wasn’t an option. Why shouldn’t sex be the same?
“Why do you care if I have the best time of my life in bed with you, as long as you enjoy the hell out of it?” Genuine curiosity replaced amusement in his voice.
She pointed to his groin. “Biology requires a certain level of participation from you.”
“It still doesn’t have to be the best hard-on of my life.”
“Can you tell the difference between erections?” That had to be a safe topic.
He gave her a look. “Can you tell a difference between your orgasms?”
Absolutely. Maybe they needed to forget this whole conversation, however, because she had no intention of telling him that tonight’s orgasm had been hands down the best of her life. He didn’t need to know just how much he affected her, did he?
“Come here.” He tugged her sash again.
“I have the munchies. No more sex until I’ve been fed. Do you want room service?”
He quirked a brow. “Do you want the entire resort to know I’m here?”
Right. She didn’t think he’d hide in the bathroom while the room service guy delivered. She couldn’t tell from his expression if he’d mind everyone knowing about them or not. How many of the island’s employees hooked up with the guests? Some, but not enough, she decided. Chances were, he didn’t want to advertise their hookup.
She shrugged and headed for the tiny fridge. “I’m voting for instant gratification. Let’s hit up the minibar.”
“That’s not a meal.”
She looked over her shoulder and grinned at him. “How do you know what I’ve got in my minibar?”
“Are you hiding a steak in there? Because a meal definitely includes protein.”
She made a face, even though she knew he couldn’t see it. What was it with men and beef? “Prepare for disappointment.”
The bed creaked as he resettled himself. Apparently, he wasn’t of the bang-her-and-leave school of thought. She sighed. He was too tempting. Maybe it would be better if he hightailed it for the door.
“Nothing about you could disappoint.”
His words were the cherry on a really great Gray sundae. She was tempted to turn around so she could see his face, but maybe it had been a throwaway line. So looking would be a mistake and wouldn’t be cool. To keep herself busy and her mind off sexy compliments, she opened the fridge and rifled through its overpriced contents. No steak, but she did have two mini bottles of champagne. She turned around, waving her prizes.
“Woo-hoo! We win.”
He eyed the tiny bottles in her hand. “I’m not much of a drinking man.”
She hadn’t pegged him for a health-kick guy, but whatever. “That must come with the spa job.”
He snorted. “That comes with childhood territory. I’ve seen too many people turn into idiots once they’d pounded a few beers.”
No alcohol. Check. She grabbed him a bottled water instead, the sparkling kind with an Italian name and fancy glass bottle. That probably wasn’t his thing, either, but the minibar had limited options.
“No steak,” she said with a smirk. She’d brought her own stuff and shoved it inside the minibar on top of the resort’s overpriced offerings. She needed healthy snacks in her life, thank you very much. She’d brought a Japanese trail mix with seaweed, nuts and dried fish. Since dried fish wasn’t everybody’s thing, she grabbed a handful of more mainstream offerings, went back to the bed and dropped the impromptu picnic onto the duvet. “Dig in.”