Chapter 9 Sienna #2
With his hand on my back, he guides me through the throng of people toward the bar. Secretly, I’m glad Eddy hasn’t returned. Or maybe he has, and he saw us dancing. Either way, I’m glad that Noah showed up.
“What happened to your friends?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “I think they went to dinner.”
“You think? You gave away your room, and in return, they ditched you?” I chuckle.
He shakes his head, his lips quirking in a hint of a smile. “I’m an idiot; I know.”
At the bar, I set down my empty drink.
In seconds, the bartender is in front of us. “Margarita?”
Once we’ve ordered two, I lean against the bar and face the man I can’t stop thinking about. In the sea of white clothing, he stands out in teal shorts and a black polo. Maybe he’d stand out anyway, with the way his shirt tugs against his muscles. The sight of him alone makes my mouth water.
I’m familiar with his body from snorkeling today. He’s clearly a man who takes care of himself, and I appreciate that.
What I appreciate more, though, are his loafers. They’re Italian leather and a sign that he’s far more mature than most men I know.
The contrast between his shoes and the damn sandals Tyler Warren was wearing makes me snort.
“What’s so funny?” Noah asks, dipping in a little closer, his face lit up with curiosity.
“My brother—” I shake my head. It’s stupid.
He arches a brow, expectant.
“He called me earlier,” I explain, “because he and his friend were going out, and that friend was wearing black slacks and sandals.”
Noah feigns an affronted scowl. “Terrible.”
“It is.” I press my hand against his chest, pushing him back. Or at least I mean to push him back. But once my palm is against his chest and I feel the way his heart is beating, I can’t pull away.
With his lip pressed between his teeth and his eyes locked on mine, he rests his own heavy hand over mine, holding it there.
The blue of his eyes seems to grow more vibrant as he shifts infinitely closer.
For a moment I think he’s going to kiss me.
My heart thuds wildly at his proximity, but when he leans over my shoulder, then steps back, holding a margarita between us, a small sigh of disappointment escapes me.
When I don’t take the drink, he arches a brow and sips it himself.
Then, with his focus locked on my face, he turns the glass and brings it to my lips, pressing my mouth to the spot where his was only seconds ago.
“Open,” he commands.
Holy fuck. That single word is enough to make me simultaneously combust and whimper.
He tips the glass, and my lips part to allow the smallest sip of liquid in. He eases it back again, his gaze trailing down my throat as I swallow.
I melt into a damn puddle under his scrutiny. My panties are so damp it’s embarrassing.
“Want to take our drinks to go?” The question is a low rumble from deep within his chest.
Surprised by the boldness, I nod woodenly and blink several times.
With the smallest of smiles, he hands me the fresh margarita, then settles the tab.
“I’m surprised you showed up,” I admit as we meander down the path toward the beach.
This is the easiest way to my villa, though I’m not sure that’s our destination.
I don’t want to be presumptuous, and with a little thought, I realize that I also don’t know that I’m ready to go back to my room with him anyway.
“I don’t want to want you,” he admits, his voice soft but his focus steady on my face. He meant for me to hear it, but he’s tempering his tone to dampen the harshness of the statement.
I lift my chin and study his face in the moonlight. “Why?”
He glances out at the now midnight blue waves, at the shimmering crests as they roll in. “My life is complicated.”
Affronted, a light scoff escapes me. “I’m not asking for a ring. Hell, I’m not really asking for anything. I was just flirting, enjoying myself. You don’t have to be here.”
He grasps my hand, stopping me, and faces me head-on. “That’s just it, though. I want to be.” He wets his lips, his gaze trailing over me with reverence. “I want more than to be here, honestly,” he rasps.
My heart stutters. “Why?”
He blows out a heavy breath, then breaks into a shy smile. “Have you ever met a person and thought, God, I want to know them? Like—” He gently tugs on a tendril of my hair, his fingers smoothing over it, back and forth, back and forth, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
When his eyes meet mine again, I know exactly what he wants to say. I understand him.
“I need to know you. It’s impossible to walk away, knowing you exist in this world.” He sighs like the admission has sapped all his energy. “Have you ever felt that before?”
I dip my chin as tingles course through me. “Yes.”
“I have nothing to offer. My life—” He shakes his head. “But the idea of not knowing you is untenable.”
After such raw honesty from him, I give him a little of my own. Maybe this will settle his nerves. “I’m moving to Paris next week. There’s no possibility after this weekend for me either.”
His hopeful expression slips, and I swear a look of devastation sweeps across his face before he forces a crooked smile. “Well, look at me getting ahead of myself.”
I bite my lip and offer a small laugh. “I suppose we’ll see what the universe has planned for us next.”
He threads his fingers through my hair and swipes his thumb against my cheek, tipping my chin up.
I’m prepared when he lowers his mouth to mine.
I’ve wanted to kiss him since the moment he stepped onto that plane.
Since he looked at me through those thick frames, that book in his hand.
Every moment since, my desire has grown, morphing into lust and now need.
A need to know whether the sparks that have been bouncing between us—the tension that’s electrified the air we share—will make us combust. Or if instead, we’ll dance within the flames of this affair.
I hope it’s the latter. With any luck, we’ll figure out how to enjoy the heat.
He angles in, and when he presses his lips against mine and a soft sigh escapes him, the reality of this moment washes over me.
Kissing him feels like sinking into a comfortable bed.
Like a warm blanket, a book, and a glass of wine on a rainy day.
Like a sketchpad and a stack of colored pencils and hours with nothing on the agenda.
It’s perfect and cozy and familiar and new and exciting.
It’s all the things a woman could want in a first kiss.
And everything I don’t want in a first kiss with someone I’ll soon be saying goodbye to.
Noah has a complicated life, and mine hasn’t even begun. We’re a blip in time. A cataclysmic slip created by the universe. But I take it anyway.
I take what he’s offering, because for a girl who’s been offered almost everything in life, I’ve never been given anything that was so perfectly made for me.