A smile spreads across her face. “Good. You should be.”
She reaches out and grabs my hand, tugging me forward. My pulse goes into overdrive when she laces her fingers throughmine. She spins under my arm, laughing as I instinctively raise it so she can pass beneath.
Then she’s back in front of me, hips swaying, eyes locked on mine. “Come on, Mr. Wet-Pants-Wonder.Move.”
“I’m moving.”
“You’re standing.”
“I’m… rhythmically existing.”
She laughs and rests her right hand over my chest, right over my heart. It kicks hard against her palm. “Feel that?” she murmurs. “That’s panic. You’re panicking.”
“I’m not panicking.”
“You definitely are,” she rises on her toes, her lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Relax. I don’t bite… unless you ask me to.”
Heat floods my veins like a dam breaking. I tighten my grip on her hand and start to move—slow at first, matching her rhythm, and let the music guide my hips.
“There he is,” she whispers, approval warm in her voice. “I knew you had it in you.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
She doesn’t respond but instead spins again and presses her back to my chest. Her shoulders nestle against me, head tipping back onto my collarbone. I can feel every point of contact.
My arm slides around her waist before I can stop myself. She covers my hand with hers, pressing it flat against her stomach. The dress is thin, and I can feel the heat of her skin beneath it. I feel her fast, shallow breaths matching mine.
This was a terrible idea.
The worst… maybebestidea I’ve ever had.
We stay like that until the song ends. Then she turns in my arms, her hands sliding up my chest until her fingers curl into the open collar of my shirt. For one suspended second, I think she’s going to kiss me.
But she doesn’t.
She rises on her toes, brushes her lips against my jaw, then pulls back and mutters a weak, “Night, Milo.”
Before I can process what’s just happened, she’s walking away, leaving me standing here, my heart hammering against my ribs.
It’s the first time she’s used my name.
Not Mr. Wet-Pants-Wonder.
But Milo.
It lands like a spark on dry kindling.
As I watch her disappear from sight, her sundress fluttering in the night breeze and her curls bouncing with each step, I realize that when it comes to Sienna Harlow, I’m fucked.
I just can’t decide whether it’s the good kind of fucked or the catastrophic kind.
Chapter Five
Sienna
It’s beentwo days since I landed on this beautiful island, and I already don't want to leave.
The sun blazes overhead like an obnoxious spotlight, turning the water into a shimmering sheet of liquid heat that presses against my skin. I’m standing in the smaller pool set up for water volleyball, surrounded by bridesmaids, groomsmen, and a few distant cousins who arrived earlier today.
