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“I think unless you’re an expert, you probably can’t tell them apart from other clear stones.”
“So why do people pay so much for them?” I ask.
“They’re rarer than most stones, stronger than most, too. So, yeah, there are lots of things that might look like them, but when you test their strength, they’ll show you why they’re worthy of the price tag.”
His voice is roughened by exhaustion, but it’s soothing. Everything about him is; his voice, his hands, his body, the way he touches me—it all feels right.
It’s almost six o’clock in the morning, and we’ve been talking all night. The buttery morning sun peeks through the dark green wooden shutters that are ubiquitous to all of the villas along this stretch of coast. I watch the dust motes dance in the rays that fall on the tangle of white sheets that we’ve cocooned ourselves in. It’s also a reminder that a new day is here and that in a couple of days I’ll be on a plane back to reality.
“That’s how I’d describe you,” he says and my eyes snap back to him. He’s staring at the face of his watch still.
“How?” I ask.
“A diamond. Well, durable, rare, stronger than you look—a treasure.” And when he says those words, I think how right they feel.
“I agree,” I say, and then flush with embarrassment. “I’m not vain,” I say defensively.
He disentangles himself from me, and I land with a small bounce on the soft mattress we’re laying on.
I find myself looking up him. He’s propped his head on his fist, and he’s watching me.
“There’s nothing wrong with vanity, Confidence. I’ve never met a woman more entitled to her vanity than you. I’ll call you … just that, Tesoro.” His fingers trail up my arm.
“That’s what you called me tonight when you were being rude,” I remind him.
“I didn’t mean it then. But it turns out that it was portent.” His fingers skim my shoulder and trip up my neck before they delve into my hair.
“I like that, even though you’re just trying to make up for being such a dick tonight,” I tell him dismissively. But inside I flail, flutter, and swell with pleasure.
“Yeah, I am,” he says slowly.
I laugh at the surprise on his face.
“Is that rare?”
“Yeah, I’m not usually worried about making up for being anything. Most of the time, out of either necessity, obligation, or a combination of both, I’m forced to make hard decisions, to speak harshly to people I respect, to say no to people I love. But, right now, I feel like I can just be myself. And remorse is something I’m glad I can still feel. It reminds me I’m human,” he says a little absently, like he’s thinking out loud. His fingers skim—with no real agenda—up and down my side. “So, this is just because it feels right to say that I’m sorry.” He focuses on me again, and when our eyes connect, we click into place like well-oiled gears and just look at each other. He’s got a mole—tiny and the same color as his skin—on the left side of his mouth. His five o’clock shadow is heavy and rides up his cheeks. The light from the lamp overhead cuts between and lights his face so his lashes make shadows on his cheeks. I trail my fingers along the shadows and say, “Thanks for apologizing.”
He sighs.
“I wish I could go to the beginning. When I saw you in the hallway outside my room, I should have dragged you into my room and kissed you,” he says slowly.
“But, I wouldn’t change a thing. I mean, that kiss would have been awesome. But everything that’s happened since was like a prelude to all of this. I’ve gotten the chance to know the man behind those lips,” I say suggestively.
I lean up and kiss the tiny frown that’s marring his lips away.
“And?”
“And now, this kiss is going to be something much better than awesome … it’ll be honest,” I say. I brush my mouth against his and I feel it in my core. Sexual tension inside of me. I’m dying to be with him.
“I like that,” he says, then leans down and kisses me back. His lips are soft and insistent on my mouth, and I open for him. The pads of his long fingers scrape my scalp and his thumbs cup my jaw while we kiss. It is achingly tender, and with each press of our lips, my desire for him blooms even bigger and brighter. Our tongues do an erotic slide and rub that makes my toes curl. I’ve kissed my fair share of men, but this is different. It doesn’t have an agenda. It’s not foreplay. It’s just a kiss for the sake of it. He groans into my mouth and bites my lower lip before he sucks on it. Heat floods my body. My heart rate rises. This kiss is everything. He’s my river. I am drowning in him. And, I don’t want to be rescued.
“Your mouth … it’s so fucking sweet,” he whispers before we’re kissing again. His hand slides from my hair down my back, grips my ass, and works its way back up to grasp the back of my neck and hold me in place while we share a kiss that’s far beyond anything I imagined a kiss could be. Heat is licking at my skin; I feel like I’m on fire. I sink my fingers into his hair and nibble on his lips before I break our lip-lock. I drop kisses on his chin and underneath.
A yawn cracks my jaw and surprises me so much I almost choke on the air I inhale.
“Well, glad to know my kiss bored you to sleep,” he says dry
ly.
