Noah has never touched me like this. Never have his hands been on my bare skin beyond a simple handshake or high five.
I’m dying.
I want to bite down on something, squeeze my thighs shut, sequester myself in my room, and replay every aching second of this experience.
I’m sad when he finishes, and it actually takes me a moment to realize he’s holding the tube of sunscreen over my shoulder so I can take it and finish putting lotion on the front of my body.
Then, we switch spots.
Noah sits down on the edge of the beach chair and I sit down behind him.
For a little while, I just take him in, as if I’m surveying how best to approach my job of lathering him up. My eyes skate along the curve of his neck and strong shoulders, then down his muscled back.
“You good back there?” he teases, cocking one brow up when he glances back to inspect me.
“Turn around. I was about to start,” I chide, squirting some sunscreen into my hand quickly and starting to work it into his shoulders. He’s a big guy. It takes me a while to cover every inch of his back and shoulders and neck. And sure, maybe I take my sweet time.
“Your hands feel good,” he tells me, rolling his neck forward. “I almost don’t want you to stop.”
I swallow the urge to squeal and instead recommend that he get a massage while we’re here.
“I’ve heard they’re really good, and you can request that they come right to your room.”
He hums in interest. “Will you do it with me? I’d feel weird doing it by myself.”
“Oh…I mean, sure. I guess.”
“I’ll organize it when we get back to the villa.”
Should we be doing that sort of thing? A couples massage? It sounds intimate, but then I have nothing to compare it to; I’ve never had one before. Maybe it’s not as bad as I’m making it out to be. It’s not like we’ll be alone—there’ll be masseuses in the room too.
“All right,” I say, wiping the last bit of sunscreen onto the bottom of his back.
I’m done.
He groans as if in disappointment and then stretches up and off the beach chair. “Fine. Then c’mon, let’s go in the water.”
“We should sit for a second and let it soak in.”
He rolls his eyes but listens nonetheless, lying down on his chair and closing his eyes.
I stare at him as he sunbathes, letting my gaze roam from his head to his toes. Sure, I pause for a moment too long on his swim trunks. I’m curious, more than anything.
When I make it back up to his face, I’m shocked to find one of his eyes squinted open in my direction. My stomach squeezes tight knowing he’s caught my lazy inspection of him, but he doesn’t seem all that disturbed by it.
“How long do we have to wait?”
What a question.
I know he’s talking about the sunscreen, but it feels like it could lead into a whole other conversation.
This isn’t good.
If I’m going to survive a week in paradise with Noah, I’m going to have to find something or someone else to distract me.
“Just another minute or two. Hey, later, I was going to head down to the restaurant for dinner. There’s supposed to be dancing in the evenings and I think it could be fun. We could meet other people staying at the hotel.”
I’m praying there will be other men there, someone to distract me from the man I really want most of all.
“Sounds fun,” he says, pushing up off his chair and walking toward the water.
Three
After we get back from the beach, I soak in the tub in my bathroom, taking the time to shave and exfoliate with the complimentary salt scrub from the hotel’s spa. It leaves my skin feeling silky smooth as I step out of the bath and wrap myself up in a robe. I dry my hair and apply my makeup, keeping things simple with a tinted moisturizer, blush, and mascara. I swipe a dark pink stain across my lips and then scan through the dresses in my closet.
I was agonizing over what to pack for this trip even long before I knew it would just be Noah and me. My busy schedule at the hospital leaves very little wiggle room for vacations, so when I take one, I like to go all out.
An array of resort wear hangs before me, but I already have an outfit in mind. I reach for a dark green silk maxi dress with an off-the-shoulder drawstring tie that keeps the garment in place over my chest. The sharp side slits reveal a hint of my legs when I walk, and admittedly, the dress is a little too sexy. If I were on vacation with Natalie and Connor, I’d throw a jean jacket on over it. But, since I’m only going to dinner with Noah, I leave my shoulders bare.
I finish the look off with a dainty gold necklace and simple wedges.
Noah’s out on the terrace when I walk out of my room. He’s facing the ocean, nursing a beer, so he doesn’t notice me walking toward him. One of his hands is tucked into the pocket of his navy pants. The sleeves of his white button-down are rolled to his elbows, and his fancy brown leather watch reflects in the glass door as he brings his beer to his mouth for another sip.
I slide the door open, and he turns back to me.
“I’m ready if you are,” I say with a gentle smile.
He nods and moves to follow me back into the villa.
I don’t look back to watch him catch up to me on my way to the front door. I feel on edge. Nervous.
Noah and I are going to dinner together. We got ready tonight to spend the evening alone, just the two of us. This dress is technically for him, and I wonder what he thinks of it.
He doesn’t leave me wondering for long.
“That dress is an invitation. You realize that, don’t you?” he says as we take the sandy path from our villa to the restaurant.
Now that the sun has begun to set, the path is lit by tiki torches. Noah walks beside me, careful to brush away any overgrown foliage that might be in my way.
“An invitation?”
I act completely oblivious.
“A man looks at a dress on a beautiful woman and immediately wonders how easy it’d be to take off, how easy it would be to pull up in a dark corner of crowded restaurant.”
Even though his words have a way of heating my blood, I force a laugh. “Oh come on. It’s just a dress.”
“That, Lindsey, is not just a dress.”
I’m tempted to reach down and tug the neckline up an inch or two so there’s less cleavage, but that would be akin to admitting he’s right.
“Well we are going out. It’s the perfect dress for my first night in Mexico.”
He hums under his breath as the restaurant comes into view up ahead.
Even with sunscreen, Noah got a tan from our afternoon on the beach. He’s freshly showered and I can smell his body wash as he presses his hand against my lower back to lead me into the restaurant.
“I called ahead. It should be under Martin,” he tells the host before I can open my mouth.
The man scans down a list of reservations, spots the name, and then nods reverently. “Of course. Right this way.”
I’m intrigued by the fact that Noah called ahead. I didn’t think we needed to, but I’m glad he did because the restaurant is busy and we likely wouldn’t have gotten seated for a while.
“Here you are,” the host says, sweeping his hand over an intimate table set for two with a cluster of votive candles lit in the center. A bottle of rosé is already chilling beside wine glasses, and Noah nods approvingly as if this is exactly what he asked for.