Dirty dreams.
I nearly gulp.
“Now answer this: were you happy to find out we’d be alone here in Mexico?” he asks.
Even though my question was more scandalous, his feels more intimate. Dreams can be written off—unconscious thoughts don’t necessarily mean anything—but if I reveal that I was happy to discover it’d be just us on this vacation, that’s as significant as admitting my entire schoolgirl crush on him once and for all.
It’s not something I can easily take back once it’s out there, and even though it feels tempting to give in to the moment here in Mexico, I can’t help but wonder how things will settle when we get back to Boston. How will we face each other again once the cat’s out of the bag?
Still, I don’t want to back down completely, so I circumvent the real answer and settle on a reply that’s less revolutionary.
“I was intrigued.”
“How?” he asks, leaning back and propping his elbows on the arms of his chair. It’s a confident pose, almost like he’s not currently asking me to bare my heart for him.
“Intrigued to see how it would go with the two of us left alone.”
“We’ve been alone before.”
Believe me, I know. I have every instance catalogued in my mind.
I swallow and look away. “Sure—briefly.”
He hums in thought. “You seem scared right now.”
“Of you?” My tone implies it’s an insane insinuation.
“Of us.”
Four
As promised, the restaurant transitions to more of a club atmosphere once our entrees are cleared and Noah is paying the check. My offer to pay half the bill is refused, so I sit back and watch the live band start to play as tables get pushed to the side. Couples rise up from their seats and take to the sandy dance floor, moving slowly and sensually, much more so than I’m used to seeing in the States. It’s like no one cares that they’re in public. Their only concern is the person in their arms. There’s something to be admired about that.
Noah and I haven’t talked much since we stopped playing our game. I refused to admit that I was scared of us, and I refused to delve deeper into what he meant by the insinuation. I think he took the hint and backed off, but now I feel bad.
We’ve only been here for a day, and already I feel like so much is changing.
I’m not sure I’m ready.
I’m not sure I can handle the fact that Noah Martin might want me as much as I want him after all the years of suffering I’ve had to endure under the false assumption that he barely knew I existed.
We sit, watching the dancers, and I drink my glass of wine slowly.
A young guy at the bar catches my eye and smiles. I saw him earlier at a table with a few other guys. They looked like they were all on a friend trip together, but now he’s alone, keeping his attention on me.
I don’t think I encourage his advances, but he still musters up the courage to walk over to our table, right in front of Noah, and ask me to dance.
He puts his hand out for me to take and I’m shocked, honestly. I’ve had my fair share of attention from guys in the past, but it’s still flattering.
I look to Noah and am surprised to see the murderous expression in his eyes. He’s never looked at me that way before and his attention is on the guy asking me to dance, but I take the hint all the same.
“Sorry. I suck at dancing.”
“It’s just for fun,” the guy prods.
Noah leans forward. “She said no.”
The guy scoffs as he steps back, focusing on me as he walks away. “If you change your mind…” He nods back toward the bar.
I can’t look at Noah after he’s gone. I’m too embarrassed.
His chair scoots back in the sand, and I peer over at him from underneath my lashes as he stands and loops around the table, blocking my view of the dance floor. He reaches down with his hand to take mine, and then he uses it to lift me up and off my chair.
He leads me out to the dance floor, never once asking me if I want to go with him.
It’s a good thing, too, because I’m not sure I’d have the courage to say yes, but now that we’re out here, now that he’s drawing me in close and wrapping his hands around my lower back, it’s like I don’t even have a choice in the matter.
I like that.
I like Noah taking something he wants because I’m too chickenshit to do it myself.
He brings me up against his body so our chests brush together, then his head falls so his forehead touches mine. We sway back and forth as his hands curve lower, over my ass. He erases the last few inches of space between us and I gasp as our hips rock together, surprised by how needy I sound even to my own ears.
His eyes catch mine and it’s like a flame drags over me, heating every inch of my body.
The music stays slow and romantic, the kind of rhythm you can’t help but emulate with your hips.
My hands glide up his hard chest and then I wrap my arms around his neck.
My silk dress feels like nothing as his hands glide up past my waist, higher around the edges of my chest. He squeezes like he can’t get enough and I tilt my chin up. It’s instinctive. I’ve never been this close to a man—moving my body in time with his—without kissing him.
He responds right away, dropping his mouth so it hovers above mine.
It’s an agonizing moment of longing, that pause he takes.
It’s suspended torture that only ends the moment our lips touch.
We’re just like the rest of the couples now—forgetting where we are, too caught up in the moment. Our kiss is a thousand years in the making and neither one of us is eager for it to end. He tilts his head and takes it deeper, sweeping his tongue across mine.
His hands tighten on me and I stretch up onto my tiptoes to bring my body even more aligned with his.
If we were alone, I have no doubt his hands would be sliding up the slits of my dress and brushing my panties aside. We’re kissing like we’re fucking, and I need him to continue more than I need my next breath.
The song ends, and people clap.
It’s that sound that finally breaks us apart.
We don’t just take an inch, we take a few yards, stepping away from each other like we’re two magnets, scared to get irresistibly drawn together again.
What was that, my expression says.
He doesn’t look confused; he looks territorial.
Hungry.
What did he say earlier about being attracted to people?
It’s more in the way someone makes me feel. Electrified, excited…hungry.
That’s how I know I’m in trouble.
He drags a hand through his hair, seeming to gather himself enough to walk toward me, grab my hand, and tug me away from the restaurant.
“Where are we going?”
“Away from here.”
“You don’t have to walk so fast. You’re hurting me.”
He slows his pace, barely. Still, I feel like I have to hustle to keep up with him. My wedges don’t help, and I beg him to stop so I can yank them off. Once they’re in my hand, I have no trouble keeping up with him.
We reach the door of the villa and he unlocks it. A dark, quiet living room waits for us, and I immediately see everything through new sexy eyes. He could bend me over the back of that couch or prop me up against that TV stand. We could go at it against the sliding glass door or right outside, on our private beach terrace.