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But it might as well be light-years away.
Quietude settles between us, save for the rolling waves several yards ahead. The warm breeze blows a strand of her hair across her face, and she sweeps it away before closing her eyes and drawing in a long, slow breath like she’s trying to capture this moment in her memory.
The slow rise and fall of her chest, the breathy sigh that leaves her parted lips when she exhales, and the burning awareness traveling through me are all but screaming for me to do what I’ve been wanting to do since the moment I saw her.
Leaning in, I cup her face in my hand, tracing my thumb along her lower lip. Her eyes flutter open, but she doesn’t jerk away or act surprised by any of this. Instead, her mouth curls into a sly smile—one that I accept as an open invitation.
Pressing my lips against hers, I kiss her the way a sailor kisses his girl before shipping out. I kiss her the way Connor kisses his pregnant fiancée before he steps on the tour bus. I kiss her the way a man kisses a woman he has no business kissing—with greed, abandon, and blind faith that someday she’ll be his.
Our tongues collide, and I take her bottom lip between my teeth before crashing against her all over again.
My fingers tangle in her hair as I steer her mouth back to mine again while time stands still and goes too fast at the same time.
If we could pause this moment, if we could make the rest of the world stop for just a few more hours, I’d be the happiest man on this entire island.
My cock strains against the inside of my pants, swelling with every second that passes.
It isn’t until we come up for air that she finally speaks.
“I’ve been wondering all night,” she says with swollen lips as she cups my face with her satin-soft palm, “if you were going to kiss me.”
I pull her into my lap, resting my hands on her hips.
Our eyes lock, having a conversation all their own.
“Just promise me something,” she says. “Whatever happens next, whatever comes after this, don’t say anything you don’t mean, okay?”
“I would never.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
DORIAN
Present Day
“Your back is burning,” I say to Briar.
We’ve been at the beach for three hours now, and I’ve managed to do everything I can to avoid looking at her. After going for a swim, I lay on a lounger with my headphones in and my sunglasses over my eyes: my best attempt at blocking out the world around me. But somewhere along the line, between stolen glances and practicing my best poker face, I couldn’t help but notice how red she was getting.
I can be an asshole, but I’m not a monster.
She sucks in a startled breath, contorting her hands around her body to check—as if I lied about it.
Need I remind her, I’m not the liar in this equation?
“Shoot.” She grimaces as she feels the exposed bits of bright-pink skin surrounding her neon-yellow bathing suit—my favorite color, but that’s beside the point. She couldn’t have known. Once upon a time, my board shorts were the same color. “I must have missed it with the sunscreen.”
A year ago, I was untying that same top, kissing the smile that coiled across her lips as her bare chest pressed against mine. She curled against me as if I was her safe place, and our bodies molded together like two pieces of the same puzzle. We were the only two souls on a vacant beach that felt like it existed just for us.
“Where’s that fiancé of yours when you need him?” I’m not sure if she can detect the sarcasm in my voice, but it’s there. Burke’s the last person to lend a helping hand for anything. I’d bet actual cash that if he were here, he wouldn’t give a shit about her sunscreen situation. Hell, he probably wouldn’t notice.
Me on the other hand? I’m not even engaged to the woman, and I can’t help but notice every little thing about her every time we’re remotely sharing the same oxygen.
The way her hair smells faintly of vanilla.
The way she sinks back and sighs with contentedness after she finishes a meal.
The way she always tucks a strand of hair behind her right ear when she’s really into something she’s talking about.
The way she picks at her nails when she’s nervous like she doesn’t know she’s doing it, or the way she doesn’t give a shit that she’s ruining her manicure.
The way her eyes glint when she steals a glance my way.
They say the body keeps the score, but I’m hopeful one of these days mine will forget the way hers felt on the inside.
Briar digs into her canvas bag, pulling out a bright-pink bottle of Water Babies SPF 50.
