“Don’t I know it.”
He turns to face me fully and steps closer until the space between us disappears. I stare at him. He stares back. My gaze drops to his lips as his tongue drags slowly across them, and something flips low in my stomach… something I’ve never felt before. Something that has my body physically shaking.
“We should get back,” he says, taking a step back. “Appetizers are arriving.”
My throat feels too tight for words, so the only response I offer is a single nod. I follow him back to the table, where we settle back into our seats just as the appetizers arrive.
Chapter Eight
Milo
The villa feels unnaturallyquiet tonight. Every tiny sound is magnified in the silence: the soft hush of waves brushing the sand below, the faint metallic creak of the ceiling fan spinning overhead, and the occasional scrape of a palm frond against the window.
I’ve been staring at the same pale rectangle of moonlight on the sheets for hours. My eyes sting, yet I can’t look away. My mind keeps circling back to Sienna.
With a frustrated sigh, I roll onto my back and drag both hands down my face.
I’m thirty-three, for fuck’s sake. I built a company from nothing. I survived boardroom bloodbaths and merger negotiations that broke grown men. And one woman who can’t sit still for five consecutive minutes has me lying awake at 2 a.m. like a goddamn teenager.
Kicking the tangled sheets off me, I stand and pull on the loose gray sweatpants draped over the chair.
I need to move. Need air. Need to stop thinking about her for five goddamn seconds.
Padding barefoot through the darkness, I notice the deck doors are slid halfway open. My feet move before my braincatches up, and I’m already walking down the staircase and onto the beach before I can stop myself. The sand is still warm from the day’s sun.
As I approach the loungers, I realize the closest one isn’t empty. Sienna is sitting there with her knees drawn up, her oversized white shirt slipping off one shoulder. She wears bright pink sleep shorts that have ridden up her thighs, and a paperback lies open across her stomach, its pages fluttering in the breeze.
I stand there for a long moment, watching the slow rise and fall of her breathing and the way moonlight glides over the bare curve of her legs. She’s gazing up at the stars, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other dangling off the edge of the lounger so her fingertips brush the sand.
Every instinct tells me to turn around and go back inside.
Instead, I walk toward her.
She doesn’t startle when I approach. Her head tilts lazily, and she offers me a slow, sleepy half-smile that tightens in my chest.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asks, tilting her head back toward the stars.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Too much scotch. And someone’s knee kept brushing mine under the table for three straight hours.”
She laughs softly, and the sound sinks straight into my ribs. “My knee has commitment issues. It wanders.”
“Tell it to wander somewhere else next time.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” she shifts on the lounger, and the collar of her shirt slips lower, revealing the soft swell of her cleavage. My gaze drops for half a second. Of course, she catches it. “Hey. Eyes up here, Mr. Wet-Pants-Wonder.”
“They were up there,” I lie. “Then they got distracted by… astronomy.”
She snorts. “Astronomy? Is that what we’re calling my tits now?”
I nearly choke. “Jesus, Sienna.”
“What?” she props herself up on one elbow. The book slides off her stomach and lands in the sand with a soft thump. “They’re magnificent. They deserve a name. Call them ‘the Sienna constellation’ or something.”
I drag a hand down my face, trying to smother the grin that keeps pulling at my mouth. “You’re going to kill me before the wedding.”
“Only if you keep looking at me like you want to lick the stars from my skin.”
I hold her gaze, pulse kicking hard. “I’m not looking at you like that.”
