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"Way. Thought you'd be hungry. It looked like you barely had time to drink water, much less eat. And last night you said you usually eat when you get home. Can't have my girl starving."
I can't stop grinning as we close up and walk to the sand. We pick a deserted spot near a rock jetty. It's a quiet little nook, almost an inlet. The moon's full and reflects in a perfect silver line on the water.
I let out a satisfied sigh when he opens the bag and takes out a giant beach towel emblazoned with his family's resort logo on the front. It's so romantic, I can barely stand it.
"You came prepared."
"Thought about this all day."
I help him arrange the towel, and he motions for me to sit. I watch as he takes out a box of expensive crackers, a wheel of brie, grapes, and an oversized Belgian chocolate bar, the kind I can no longer afford. Because of my condition—my out of control, wonky genetically high cholesterol—I should probably only eat the grapes. But I'm not about to ruin this night by telling him my health woes.
And because I haven't had cheese in weeks. Mmm, cheese. Almost as good as an orgasm.
He's taken such care to pack and unpack everything. When he looks up with a soft smile, I melt. Just ooze feelings everywhere.
He plucks a grape off the stem. "Open up," he says.
The butterflies in my stomach take flight, ecstatic over how he's feeding me grapes and how we're laughing about nothing special as the waves gently lap the sand, only feet from where we're sitting. He leans in to kiss me, soft and slow, and makes a little growly sound against my mouth.
I giggle and kiss him deeper, eager to hear that sound again.
"What is this, anyway?" I murmur.
"A kiss in the moonlight." He brushes his lips against mine. "Oh, you mean this? Us?"
"Mmm-hmm. Is this an official fling? A holiday fling, since we're coming up on Thanksgiving and Christmas?"
"Something like that. It's whatever you want it to be, Kate." He cups my jaw with his hand and pulls me closer, devouring my mouth.
There's a part of me, an evil one in a deep and private place, that's whispering words of caution. The words flash in my brain as we stretch out and caress each other's faces as if we don't have a care in the world. As if this isn't a temporary thing.
I roll on top of him, and he hugs me tight. In his arms, I feel like I'm unfolding, as if I'm one of those ghostly white cereus flowers here on the island that only bloom and open at night.
"How long are you back for?" I run my hand down his chest, feeling the muscles underneath. Then I internally berate myself for killing the mood (again) and for not finding out this information before now.
He pulls away from me, rolling onto his back, his brows drawing together. "I'm home on Paradise Beach for three months."
I scoot close to him, nestling in the crook of his arm. "That's about how long I was planning on staying...if all goes well with Mom."
"Three months," he mutters, stroking my bare arm with his fingertips. "That's a long time in my world. An eternity, even."
"Tell me about your world. You were in, what? Afghanistan?"
"Yeah. And Iraq. My last military contractor gig was in Iraq. Which wasn't too bad, actually." He shrugs like it was no big deal.
"You seem pretty casual for a guy who's been to the world's hot spots."
"Not everyone gets PTSD, you know. Not all of us are damaged." His voice has an edge, one that I don't like.
I press my palm flat on his chest. It's hard to tell what he's really saying, but I suspect he's seen and done some harsh things as a Marine. "Of course not."
There's an awkward silence between us, filled by the sound of the soft surf. "Right now, it's a job. That's all it is. It pays well. Amazing benefits. If I could figure out what to do next, I'd do it. Until I do, this is my life: travel to some dangerous country, come home to relax with the fam, then repeat."
"And what is next? Where are you going for your next assignment?"
"Syria," he murmurs, rolling over and spanning his hand on my cheek. "Can we stop talking about this? I'd rather kiss you some more."
Syria? Images of a recent, horrific story on the news fly through my brain. A cold chill goes through my body, but I lean into him, pressing my lips to his. His scruff brushes against my face, creating an exquisite, rough sensation.
