CHAPTER 19 #2
I do as he says, wrapping it around my wrist and launching myself at him.
Unable to go another second without kissing this beautiful man, I press my lips against his, absorbing his deep groan as he kisses me back with equal intensity.
Inching closer, until I’m almost in his lap, I run my hands through his hair, letting out a groan of my own when he deepens the kiss.
He tastes like chocolates and everything that is sweet in the world, and I want to kiss him forever.
“Whoa,” he breathes as we break apart for air.
I shuffle back as far as his hands will let me; not very far. “Yeah.”
Our chests heave as we stare at each other; this is something more than pretend. I see it in his face. And feel it when we kiss.
Oh boy, these kisses.
Nathan seems to feel the same way, placing one last kiss on my lips before straightening up. “As much as I’d love to continue this for the rest of the day…week…month.” I laugh, and his dimple winks at me. “We have to get back. I have George’s Stag Do to get through.”
I straighten up with a frown. “You’re going to that? He expects you to go to that? Your brother, who’s marrying your ex? Expects you to attend his Bachelor Party?”
He shrugs like he hasn’t given it a second thought. “I think it’s best to turn up, have a drink and leave. It’s not worth the whispers I’d face if I didn’t attend.”
“Still, you shouldn’t have to go,” I grumble.
We stand, and he pulls me into his arms. “Believe me, Kitty Kat. I’d much rather spend the time with you.”
And with those delightful words lingering, and our individually crafted chocolate bars in a pristine-looking gift-wrapped box tucked under our arms, he leads me back towards our waiting golf buggy.
As we drive off, I turn and give chocolate heaven one last glance before it disappears in the distance, and let out a contented sigh.
Forget Disney Land, this cocoa farm—with its iced hot chocolates and its desserts and its places to kiss Nathan—this is the happiest place on Earth.
?·?·?
Later that evening, I find myself on the bed, wrapped in a robe made of clouds. Or at least that’s what it feels like. After a long, lingering kiss and a guttural groan that made my knees knock, Nathan left to attend George’s Stag Do, and I had an afternoon to myself. To indulge.
The first thing I did was load up my Kindle and take advantage of the afternoon sun.
I spent a blissful hour out on the deck, engrossed in the words of Kristin Hannah.
Then, after the reading turned to napping, I woke to find the outdoor hot tub calling my name.
Like a sloth, I crawled from my lounger and immersed my body in the blistering hot water, allowing it to soak any remaining tension from my body.
Once my body was sufficiently pickled and looking like a prune, I rinsed off with a cool water shower, and upon consultation with Giselle, I ordered the most popular dish on the menu, along with some chocolate cake for dessert.
And now, I’m waiting for it all to arrive, wrapped in this robe that I’m definitely going to smuggle in my suitcase to take home with me.
“Dr Winslow?” Giselle’s voice calls through the door along with a soft knock.
Dinner! Excellent.
“Coming.” Jumping off the bed and almost tripping in my haste, I land at the door with a thud, opening it with eager anticipation.
“Your dinner is ready.”
Giselle wheels in a table set with pristine white linen and fine China. Even the room service here is fancy.
“Thanks!”
I bounce on my toes as she leaves, lifting a cloche and clapping at what I find. Our butler for the week has outdone herself. Turns out, when you stay at five-star resorts, the most popular dish on the menu is lobster. With a side of what looks like chips coated in truffle oil.
Helping myself to a chip, I pop it in my mouth, groaning with pleasure as I open the last cloche. It’s an entire cake. Not a slice like I’d expected, but an entire cake. Chocolate with a perfectly shining chocolate ganache coating. So shiny I can almost see my reflection in it.
“Well, I’m not sure I can eat all of that, but I’ll give it a go.”
With dinner and dessert sorted, I set myself up on the bed and flick the large-screen TV on. Scrolling through the endless supply of movies, I stop on a long-forgotten favourite—The Proposal. Another Sandra Bullock classic. With a fake dating trope.
“Fitting.”
Working my way through the most amazing food I’ve ever eaten, I’m halfway through Ryan Reynolds’ best movie performance and my second slice of cake when there’s a thump, a bang and then a thud at the door.
“What the—?”
With a spoonful of chocolate cake in my mouth, I rush to open the door, surprised to find Nathan propped up against it with an annoyed-looking Theo behind him.
“Are you okay?” I ask Nathan, holding his arm to balance him as he wobbles.
He grins, wide and sloppy. “Kitty Kat, you’re here!”
Stumbling, he lurches into the room while his manager holds him upright. “He had a few too many tequila shots,” Theo mutters.
“It was the only way to get through the night,” Nathan counters, flopping onto our small couch and promptly lying on his back with his arms over his eyes.
I glance at Theo, who’s frowning at his friend. “Is he okay?”
Theo’s gaze locks with mine, a small smile growing on his face, turning him from handsome to breathtaking in an instant.
“I think he’ll be better now.”
My cheeks heat, and I nibble on my lips. “Well, thanks for bringing him home in almost one piece.”
His smile grows. “He likes you.”
“I like him, too,” I admit, my stomach in knots at this quiet declaration. Has Nathan been talking about me?
“Good.” Theo nods once. “I’ll leave him in your capable hands.” He raps his hand on the door frame before calling over to Nathan, “Drink some water before bed.”
Nathan waves him off with a groan.
“He’s going to wish for death in the morning.” And with that grim prediction, Theo gifts me one last heart-fluttering smile and leaves.
Drawing in a deep breath, I rush to Nathan, kneeling on the floor next to him. “How are you doing?”
He peels one eye open. “Eh, I’m better now.”
“Do you want anything?” I’ve never been drunk before, but as a biologist, I know that alcohol inhibits water reabsorption by suppressing antidiuretic hormone, leading to increased urine production and water loss. So, the best and only thing that will help him now is…more water.
He groans and doesn’t answer.
I shift closer, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. “Was the Stag Do awful?”
His eyes are glued to the ceiling. “I can’t believe he’s doing it; you know? He’s marrying her.”
My heart thumps in my ears, and I brace myself to ask the question that’s been plaguing me since we started this whole charade. “Because you still have feelings for her? For Victoria?”
His handsome face twists into a scowl. “I’ll never get over it…”
I hold my breath waiting for him to finish his train of thought. “Nathan…?” I probe when he remains silent. “You’ll never get over her?”
He rolls towards me, the expression on his face shifting like someone had just changed the TV channel. “You’re pretty,” he says, ignoring my question. “So, so pretty.” He lurches upright and runs an unsteady hand through my hair. “And you have the prettiest hair.”
My stomach flips, and I bite my lip to stop from pressing him for answers. To get him to finish his drunken confession. “Ah, Nathan. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
His bottom lip juts out in an adorable pout. “I too do.”
Unable to help myself, I giggle, and he beams. “Oh, really? You too do?”
He nods, not noticing his mistake, while running a hand up and over my hair again. “Yeah, so, so pretty,” he whispers.
I freeze, my face inches from his. So close I can see lighter flakes of gold around the pupils in his eyes. How had I not noticed this before?
Before I can do anything like take advantage of the drunk man in front of me, a man who just confessed to still mourning his breakup, I lean back and stand up. “Come on, big man. Time for bed.”
He takes my offered hands but stays seated. “No can do.”
I sigh. He’s a troublesome drunk. “Nathan, I think the best thing for you to do is get some sleep.”
“I’ll sleep here.” To illustrate his words, he flops back down sideways, looking comically large on the tiny couch.
I try again, tugging on the hands still in mine. “You’ll be more comfortable in the bed.”
He groans. “I know I will, Kitty Kat. But I just can’t do it.”
Now I’m lost. “Do what?”
“Wake up with you in my arms,” he mutters with his eyes closed.
I freeze, my blood running cold. “What did you say?”
“Bed. You. Wrapped. Around. Me,” he slurs.
His words hit me like a gut punch. All the words. Too many words. Contrary to my belief and also in line with the ‘only one bed’ trope, I have been migrating to his side of the bed every night. Only in this scenario, when he wakes to find me there, he’s been putting me back every morning.
So, this is what it’s like to die a slow, humiliating death?
“How about I promise to stay on my side of the bed tonight?” I desperately barter with his almost sleeping form. “Does that work?”
He shakes his head with a restless “No,” and I give up the negotiating.
There’s no way he’s sleeping on this couch tonight because I can’t respect his boundaries while I sleep.
One way or another, we’re getting him into that bed.
And it will be my needy, greedy arse who will take the couch.
Wrapped up nice and tight with my pure mortification and utter despair to keep me warm the whole night through.