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.”