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I feign a snarl, nibbling across her collarbone. When I finally pull back, Alba stares up at me, wide-eyed.
Her expression is so raw. It’s all there, so easy to read: the hope, the humor, the old hurt, the guarded way she protects her heart. Did I ever have it when we were younger? Did I have Alba’s heart then leave it behind?
Shit, I can’t think like that—makes me want to drown myself in the waterfall. Talk about a self inflicted wound.
Besides, there’s no way. I was nothing back then: just a rangy teenage boy with a second hand guitar and two awkward Christmases each year. Too many followers and not enough friends.
Now I have things to offer. Dalton Meadows issomebodyat last, and this is my sweet, sweet reward: Alba sighing and melting against the rock, her body arching against mine each time I kiss her neck. The brush of her wet bikini against my chest.
My teeth scrape over her pulse point, and Alba hums. This is all so new. First a peck last night, now we’re grinding together in a plunge pool, exchanging sighs. Is this moving too fast?
Eight years is notfast, asshole.
“Tell me what you want.” My voice is strained, the words vibrating through the empty cave. The waterfall drums into the plunge pool. “Don’t let me cross any lines, okay? Tell me when to stop.”
Alba squeezes my waist with her thighs. Her breath is hot against my ear. “I will. Now kiss me already.”
Five
Alba
Ikeep telling myself that this is fine, that I won’t let myself get hurt, that hooking up with Dalton Meadows is no big deal—but let’s face it, I am neck-deep in denial. The truth hits me as soon as Dalton kisses my mouth for the first time today (and second time ever).
It’s nothing like last night’s farewell peck. This time, he’s not careful or polite. He kisses me hard and merciless, and as our tongues slide together, chests heaving, both breathing hard, the heat surges between us like a solar flare.
Holy shit.
I always knew we’d burn hotter than lava.
Something twists low in my belly, and my toes curl behind his back. Soft, desperate sounds fill the cave, and it takes way too long to realize they’re coming fromme.
Every time he breaks away, even for a split second, I whimper for him to come back. Story of my life.
“Alba. Sugar.” Dalton kisses like he’s starving, and I’m as sweet as my nickname. Greedy hands roam over my chilled body, gripping my curves and squeezing them. Mapping his territory.
The rock star holds me like he owns me. Like I’vealwaysbeen his, and he’s finally come to collect. Like he’s never felt anything better than my jiggly bits.
“I can feel your calluses.” I nip his bottom lip, laughing and giddy. “From playing guitar. I can feel every single one.”
Fingertips trail up my ribs, those hard-earned rough patches tickling my skin. Dalton’s eyes are scorching hot. “You like that, huh?”
“Oh, yeah.” Understatement of the century. My body might burst, I like kissing and touching this man so much. My crush is here at last, and he’s so strong and funny and clever andintome. Finally, he’s into me. What took him so long?
We could’ve been doing this all along. Could’ve fumbled through all our firsts a long time ago, but Dalton left me behind.
The reminder sours my mood and I pull away, leaning back in his arms.
The rock is cool and smooth at my back. This plunge pool was electrifying, it was so cold when we first got in—but I’m getting used to it. Either that, or we’re heating up the water with our clinch. We’re calming down now, though, staring at each other like we’re complete strangers.
“What changed?” I demand, icy mist drifting from the waterfall and clinging to my cheeks. “It’s been eight years, Dalton, and you know I loved you long before that. So what changed?”
The rock star blinks at me. His throat works. “You loved me?”
“Past tense,” I say quickly, even though my chest twists at the lie.
Whatever. When I go home to my small, lonely, very average life, I need to takesomedignity with me, for god’s sake. Dalton can’t know that I’ve been waiting, wondering, hoping all this time. He can’t know how badly these kisses will break me once they’re gone.
“But I’ve had eight years of nothing but letters, Dalton. Eight years of hearing your music on the radio, and wondering if any of those songs were about me. And then that wedding invitation, and that kiss last night, and—andthis.” I shrug violently, water sloshing. “What the hell? What is happening here? I don’t understand.”
