“What do you say, Grey? Shall we see if the bed is to your liking?” Without warning, he picks me up and within two strides tosses me onto the bed like I'm feather-light and not a whole person. I squeal when the soft mattress catches my fall, my head landing amongst the many pillows.
Wes’s laugh is carefree, but his eyes are dark, hooded, and the smoldering look he gives me makes everything inside me tighten in anticipation. He kneels at the end of the bed, first reaching up to remove his hat, tossing it across the room where it lands with a thud, and then to pull off his shirt with one hand. My mouth goes dry at the sight of him. There’s so much more than the physical attraction between us now, but damn if I don’t love to look at this man. Damn if our unrelenting love for each doesn’t make that attraction burn brighter. I want him. I want him forever.
As he climbs over me on the bed, he whispers in my ear, “I want you forever too, Joss.”
I guess I said that last thought out loud.It doesn’t matter though, because there’s no more thinking after that. There’s only touch, only breaths, only us as we let our hearts and bodies do the talking.
The next morning, we wake up to the sound of waves on the beach and slide into our bathers without saying a word. The quiet is partof what makes an early morning surf so beautiful. There’s no need to fill the silence. You just allow the crisp, cool water to wake up your senses and your mind in whatever way you need on that particular day.
Only once we’ve paddled out and are bobbing on the waves does Wes finally speak. “I love you, Joss.” The words are a caress, filled with so much feeling, and when I look over, I see it all detailed in his features as well. The softness to his eyes, the adoring smile tugging at his lips.
“I love you too, Wes.”
The sun continues to rise behind us as we take turns paddling into the waves and riding to our hearts’ content. By the time we’re spent and boneless, lying in the sand outside our bungalow, the sun has fully risen and my stomach is screaming for sustenance. I flip onto my side, taking in every inch of exposed skin on the man beside me. It’s warmer here, in the throes of spring, so Wes is in nothing but a pair of navy boardshorts.
The way they hug his backside makes them my favorite. They’ve pulled up a few inches on his legs, and I can see the entirety of the scars that surround his knee and extend up his muscular thigh. I feel incredibly honored that he chose to share the story of how he got them. That he trusted me with them, trusted me to hold those broken pieces of him.
I scooch closer to him on the sand, letting my hand trace over the scar at his shoulder where a piece of metal lodged itself in the crash. His body jerks at the contact. “Sorry,” I say, but he’s already relaxed again into the sand as I move my fingers up and down the raised skin. A low hum emanates from his chest and he catches my hand in his.
“What are you thinking right now?” he asks.
“I was thinking about how badly I wanted to know all your scar stories when we first met. Now I do.”
He brings my fingers to his lips, letting his eyes fall closed as he lies relaxed in the sand.
He begins to say something but stops when my stomach grumbles loudly. His laugh puffs out against my hand, and I giggle next to him.
“I was going to say we should go get cleaned up in the outdoor shower where you could more thoroughly examine all of my scars… but maybe I need to feed you first.”
He shifts so he’s lying on his side facing me, our eyes locked on each other, grey to blue, and I have the briefest thought of what the eyes of our children would be like if we ever have them. It startles me, not because I don’t want kids but because I’ve never been at a place in my life where thinking of them felt like anything but a faraway possibility.
“Breakfast, yeah?” he asks, his hand coasting over my stomach when it grumbles again.
“Yeah,” I breathe, but instead of moving to get up, I press my lips to his. He groans, letting his fingers tighten around my waist for just a moment before he pulls back.
“We better stop.” He laughs against my lips. “Otherwise I’ll have you laid out under me in the sand, and I’m not sure it will be nearly as sexy as the movies make it out to be.” He presses a kiss to my forehead before pushing himself to stand, hand outstretched. He wiggles his fingers at me a little, and it pulls a bigger smile across my face.
“You’re probably right. I don’t want to be washing sand out of places it was never meant to be for the next week.” I slip my hand into his and he pulls me up, using all his strength so that my momentum carries me straight into his body.
“This feels familiar,” I say, looking up at him with joyful amusement as I think back to that first day on the plane when we ended up in a very similar position.
“Yeah, but this time, I’m not letting you go.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Wes
Idid indeed pull Joss into the outdoor shower, our desire for each other outweighing the need for food. Though I did make good on my promise to feed her afterward. Now she’s relaxed in the hammock that’s stretched across our little porch, reading a book, a small smile playing on her lips. When she opened her bag last night and found four new books laid out on top of her clothes, she burst with excitement.
I knew she took her Kindle with her to work—she never goes anywhere without it—but I know how much she cherishes paperbacks. Jaz recommended a couple, namely romances starring stubbled cowboys, musicians, and hockey players, as well as a thriller that takes place at a beach resort that seemed fitting. Joss is currentlycurled up with the hockey romance. I didn’t know this was a genre, but based on the giddy grin on her face, Jaz picked a winner.
In addition to pulling in help with the books, Rory offered her advice on how to make this weekend extra special for Joss. She sent me a YouTube video of how to set up my phone camera so that we can take some sunset pictures on the beach, which I have planned for later tonight. She also recommended bringing everything for a beach bonfire and for bubble baths.
“Hey,” I say quietly, and she places her book down on her lap. “Have you talked to your dad this week?”
Joss and Brian have been slowly figuring out a new dynamic following our explosive dinner at The Gidley. Before he flew home to Brisbane, he told us about how his wife, Alex, died of cancer less than a year ago. From the sounds of it, she’d been encouraging Brian to try to reconcile with Joss for years leading up to her passing. Her death and the realization that life is fleeting played the biggest role in him reaching out.
“Oh, yeah. I actually talked to him yesterday.” She purses her lips. “He, uh, well… He really wants me to talk to Isla.” Her shoulders sag. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”
