He looks at the picture and then over to me.
I start to walk away.
He reaches out to grip my elbow and tugs me back toward his chest.
“You’re into me, aren’t you?” he teases, whispering the words into my ear.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You want me,” he insists, so cocky and arrogant I’m tempted to lift my foot and stomp it back down on top of his just to get him to release me.
But his next words catch me off guard.
“How long have you been suffering?” he asks, his words soft and empathetic. “As long as I have?”
He squeezes my elbow then drops his hand, curving around me so he can keep walking up the path. I’m left staring after him, absorbing his words, fighting back a smile.
WHEN WE RETURN to the hotel, we order lunch down on the beach. We eat fresh ceviche and guacamole and sip on ice-cold palomas as the sun beats down from overhead. I eye the ocean, knowing it’ll feel good once I cave and go in.
I lean back in my chair and glance over at Noah. He hasn’t been shy about eyeing me in my bikini. Even now, his gaze is eating me up from head to toe. I stretch one leg down the chair and prop my elbows over my head, closing my eyes and basking in the feeling of having his attention pinned on me.
His chair creaks, but I keep my eyes closed as I listen to him approach my chair.
He sits on the edge, his swim trunks brushing my thigh. I’m braced for more physical contact—a kiss at the forefront of my mind—but instead, he reaches up with one finger to slowly trace a line down my bikini strap and over my breast. I shiver as goose bumps bloom in his wake.
He follows the material across my chest and up and over my other breast. All the while, I keep my eyes squeezed shut. It feels like a game that will end as soon as I open my eyes.
He drops down to press a kiss to my navel and I immediately inhale sharply, shocked by the feel of his lips on my bare skin. He continues south, his fingers working over my body as his lips follow an invisible line down the center of my abdomen.
He tugs down the top of my bikini bottom and his lips touch my hip bone. A soft moan escapes my lips and his hands dig into my skin.
We aren’t alone on this beach. Yards away, I know other guests from the hotel are out and about. If they walked over in our direction, they’d find us, and that’s likely why Noah doesn’t continue his dangerous pursuit. He emits an impatient groan and then rises up off the chair, taking me with him. I blink my eyes open as he starts dragging me into the water. We splash in the waves and cool off, keeping a few feet of distance between us, hoping to ensure we don’t lose ourselves again. I know there’s no rush, but at the same time, I’m impatient. I’ve wondered for so long what it would feel like to endure a full pursuit from Noah Martin, and having him touch me on that beach chair is conjuring up all sorts of wicked ideas in my head.
Once my fingers have turned into prunes and I’ve successfully cooled off, I walk back onto the beach and flop down on my stomach on my beach chair, grateful for the umbrella that blocks me from the sun. I don’t mean to fall asleep there, but with the warm blanket of heat surrounding me, it’s impossible to stay awake.
I wake up sometime later, slightly disoriented, and turn to glance over my shoulder. Noah is lying on the chair beside me, his eyes closed. A paperback lies face down on his chest, like he rested it there for a moment before falling asleep. I smile and push up to stand, lifting the book from his chest to drop it on the table beside the remnants of our lunch. Instead of waking him, I lie down beside him in the chair, looping a leg over his and tossing an arm across his torso. He stirs enough to shift over and give me a little more room, and then his hand reaches up to grip my arm, as if insisting I stay with him. We fall back asleep together, warm and happy.
I’d forgotten about the couples massage Noah set up until an attendant walks out onto the beach later that afternoon, apologetic about disturbing us. Apparently, while we’ve been out here lounging, they let themselves into our villa to set up for our four PM appointment.
“If you’ll follow me inside, we can get started.”
Inside the living room, they’ve rearranged some of the furniture so that two massage tables now sit side by side in the center. They’ve lit candles and turned on a soothing playlist of songs that must come pre-loaded on every spa CD across the world.
There’s a man and a woman, one masseuse for each of us.
They introduce themselves as Javier and Gabriella and instruct us in polite masseuse speech to strip down to what we feel comfortable in then lie down under the sheet. They exit the villa to give us privacy, and then Noah and I turn toward one another.
“What do you think they expect?”
Noah tilts his chin toward my room. “If he’s your masseuse, you should probably go put on a couple more layers over your bikini.”
“Ha ha. Be serious. Should I just leave my bottoms on?”
He stares down at said material then wipes a hand down
