Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“You’re kidding.”
“Let’s just say we didn’t spend much time talking.”
He lifts a brow, impressed. “I see.”
“Your flight was a few hours before mine,” I say, smiling as I remember his sweet impatience, the stream of texts he’d sent detailing exactly what he was going to do once he had me in bed again. “But you insisted on waiting at the airport once you landed.”
“Wow, calm down, Luca.”
“You’ve never really been one to play hard to get.”
“I’ll say. What happened when you landed?”
“You came home with me and we—”
“Didn’t talk some more?”
Laughing, I nod. “We do a lot of not talking. We are very good at not talking.” I swallow, realizing this is exactly why I was able to keep things from him for so long. Our eyes meet and he searches my gaze, looking for something. He seems to find it, because understanding clears his expression, awareness of some shared culpability. It wasn’t only you sweeping things under the rug, his eyes seem to say.
And then the expression shifts, turning playful.
“So let me guess,” he says, leaning in and lowering his voice. “We came here because we thought a crowd might keep us in line?”
His proximity sends a wave of warmth over my skin. “Pretty much. It is a family beach, after all.”
“Did it work?” His smile is flirtatious, a glimpse of my Luca making an appearance.
My voice comes out unsteady. “Not particularly.”
He makes a show of looking around. “I was going to say, it’s not very crowded today. Were we just walking?”
“Mostly. But we ended up over by some trees.” I watch as he turns away from me. “Where are you going?”
Tilting his chin, he motions for me to follow. “Come on,” he says, and walks to the base of a pair of palms growing in the sand near the cliff.
Even with the wind, I am immediately sweaty again. Luca doesn’t remember what we did. But I could never forget. I move to join him.
“Now what?” he says expectantly.
I look around before pressing my back to the rough wood of the trunk. “I was here.” The sky has become slightly overcast, just like he predicted. Not unusual in San Diego, when the marine layer hangs like a fog until early afternoon, but it could mean rain, too. The shadows blur together as the sun slips away. It feels darker, more private.
“And you—” With my hands on his forearms, I guide him to stand in front of me. Toe to toe.
“Like this?”
I nod, though it’s not completely true. That day there was no space between us. Today our hands are carefully at our sides, not barely restrained over fabric, fingers teasing at hems with whisper-soft caresses and promises of what we would do when we were alone.
Luca swallows, his eyes glued to my lips, his voice hoarse when he asks, “And then what?”
Saying we made out isn’t even close. We practically had sex with our clothes on. I’m surprised the lifeguards didn’t escort us out. My face heats at the memory.
I go with an answer that barely scratches the surface. “We kissed.”
There’s a pause before he leans in slightly, allowing some of his weight to rest against me rather than on his injured leg. We’re pressed thigh to thigh. He’s looking down at me and there’s hesitancy in his eyes, yes, but there’s something else there, too. Hunger.
The air between us grows thick with quiet tension. I tilt my chin. He’s so tall; his body blocks out everything around us. It’s the same sensation I had that day: The only thing in the world I want is him. He swallows again, and I watch the way his Adam’s apple moves in his throat. I can see the blond tips of his dark eyelashes, his faint stubble, the shape of his mouth, lower lip heavier than the top.
I miss that new, infatuated version of us so much it’s like a hollow pit in my chest.
He leans forward. “Okay?”
Nodding, I feel the warmth of his breath just a moment before the heat of his lips. They’re so soft, and taste of the ocean, warm from the sun and salty from the wind. We fit so perfectly, our mouths lush, partially open, meeting in flawless symmetry. He makes a low, surprised sound, almost a moan, but pulls back before it deepens, and rests his forehead against mine.
“Fuck,” he whispers. A starving man standing before a closed buffet. Dying of thirst with only the ocean in front of me, I’m ravenous for him.
Sending my hand up his chest and around his neck, I pull him back to me, wondering if I’ll have to coax him, but I don’t. He bends willingly, setting his mouth on mine, and again we come together with perfect, hungry precision.
Instinct. It’s inside him, inside me, the way our mouths move in unison, pulling, sucking, tasting. A sweep of his tongue over mine makes me moan, tripping something inside him that sends his hands sliding up my arms, up my neck, his hands coming to my face, his teeth grazing my bottom lip. Luca’s elbows tuck in tight to his sides, like he’s holding back so much need while cupping my face so gently, and I slide my hands down his shoulders, wrapping my hands around his biceps, digging my fingers into the muscle there.