Every Move You Make. Tori Carrington

He eyed where Mariah had curled her hands into the front of Zach’s shirt, the side of her head resting against his chest.

      Zach could hear the thump-thump of his own heartbeat. He wondered if Mariah could hear it, too. The soft smell of sunshine—Texas sunshine—filled his nose, and the feel of one-hundred-percent Mariah Clayborn filled his arms. The heat that had earlier taken up residence in his abdomen dropped to his groin. His condition was not helped any by the shifting of Mariah’s hips.

      “You okay?” James asked her.

      Zach looked down to find her staring at the man as if just realizing he was there. She pushed away from Zach so fast she nearly toppled them both over. Zach caught her and chuckled.

      “I’m fine,” Mariah said, squaring her shoulders and looking everywhere but at Zach. “Where did you say this damn suitcase was?”