6. Melody #2
“I’m not wise. I’ve just been through enough therapy to recognize the pattern.” He smiles, and the warmth of it makes something flutter in my stomach. “The pain being bearable doesn’t mean something’s wrong with you, Melody. It means you’re stronger than you think.”
“Or does it mean I never really loved him?”
“Did you?”
The question hangs in the air between us. I think about Leo. About the early days, when everything felt exciting and new. About the way that excitement slowly faded into routine, into obligation, into something that looked like love from the outside but felt hollow on the inside.
“I thought I did,” I say finally. “I wanted to. I tried so hard to be what he needed, to make it work, to be a good partner.” My voice catches. “But I think maybe I ended up loving the idea of him more than I loved him. The idea of being married. Of having a future. Of not being alone.”
“That’s not a crime.”
“It feels like one. It feels like I wasted four years on something I should have seen through from the beginning.”
“You didn’t waste anything.” Noah’s fingers tighten on my wrist. “You learned. You grew. You figured out what you don’t want, which is the first step to figuring out what you do want.”
I look at him, this man I’ve known for barely two weeks, and I feel something shift inside me. Something that’s been locked down tight since I read those texts on Leo’s phone.
“You make everything sound so simple,” I say.
“It is simple. Not easy, but simple.” He tilts his head. “The hard part isn’t knowing what to do. It’s having the courage to do it.”
“And what do you think I should do?” I say a little hesitantly.
“Whatever you want. For once in your life, just do what you want. Not what’s expected. Not what’s practical. What you actually want.”
I know what I want. I’ve known since that almost-kiss in the elevator, since his hands on my face in the hallway, since every charged moment between us that we’ve both been pretending to ignore.
He kisses me again, deep and searching, and I let myself fall into it without reservation. Without fear. Without the voice in my head reminding me that the last time I trusted someone, they were texting their mistress while I slept on their shoulder.
“Let’s go back. It’s getting late,” he says, taking my hand and helping me out of the water.
Today is not about the past. Today is about this man, this water, this impossible feeling growing in my chest.
Today is enough.
***
Noah
She’s going to be the death of me.
I reach down into the water to help her climb out of the pool, and the moment her hand grips mine, she rises out of the water like something from a dream I didn’t know I was having. Water cascades down her body, catching the light, and her white bra has gone completely translucent against her skin.
I should look away. I’m a gentleman. I was raised to be a gentleman.
I don’t look away.
Her breasts are perfect, round and full, the dark peaks of her nipples visible through the soaked fabric.
Water droplets trail down her stomach, disappearing into the waistband of her underwear, which is also white, also translucent, also leaving absolutely nothing to my imagination.
I can see the shadow between her thighs, the curve of her hips, the way the wet cotton clings to every soaked inch of her.
My brain short-circuits.
“You okay?” she asks, squeezing water out of her hair. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I’ve seen something, all right. Something that’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life in the best possible way.
“Fine,” I manage. My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “Just... the view.”
She glances over her shoulder at the waterfall behind her. “It’s beautiful, right?”
I’m not looking at the waterfall. I haven’t looked at the waterfall since she started climbing out of the pool.
“Stunning,” I say.
She bends over to wring out her hair, and the movement does things to her body that make my mouth go dry. The curve of her spine. The way her back dimples just above the swell of her ass. The thin strip of wet fabric that’s somehow supposed to count as underwear.
I need to get control of myself. I’m standing here like a teenager who’s never seen a woman before, and she’s going to notice any second now.
She straightens up and catches me staring.
“What?” She looks down at herself, then back up at me, and understanding dawns on her face. “Oh. Oh god. They’re see-through, aren’t they?”
“Little bit.”
“You could have said something!”
“I was enjoying the view.”
She grabs her shirt off the rocks and holds it against her chest, cheeks flushing pink. “Oh my god! You’re terrible.”
“I’ve been told.”
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to memorize my body or learn something new.”
I step closer, water still dripping from my own clothes. “I am trying to memorize you. Is that a problem?”
Her breath catches. I watch the rise and fall of her chest beneath the shirt she’s clutching like a shield, and I think about all the things I want to do to her. All the ways I want to touch her. All the sounds I want to draw from that beautiful mouth.
“We should get dressed,” she says. Her voice has gone breathy. “Before... before someone comes or before we do something reckless.”
“What if I want to do something reckless?”
“Noah.”
“Melody.”
We stare at each other for a long moment. The waterfall roars behind us. The jungle hums with life. And I’m so hard it actually hurts, which is unfortunate considering my boxer briefs are just as transparent as her underwear.
She notices. Her eyes dip down, then snap back up, and the pink in her cheeks deepens to crimson.
“Get dressed,” she says firmly. “Now.”
I laugh despite myself. “Yes, ma’am.”
But getting dressed doesn’t help.
She’s back in her hiking clothes, but I can’t unsee what’s underneath them. Every time she moves, I imagine the fabric sliding against her skin. Every time she bends to step over a root, I remember the curve of her spine, the dimples above her ass, the shadow between her thighs.
The hike back is going to kill me.
We make it maybe ten minutes before I break.
“Melody.”
“What?”
I pull her off the trail, press her back against the trunk of a massive banyan tree, and kiss her like I’ve been starving for it. Because I have, and I still can’t get used to it. Since the moment I saw her rise out of that water, I’ve been starving.
She makes a sound against my mouth - surprise, then surrender - and her hands find the back of my neck, pulling me closer. Her body arches into mine, and I can feel every curve through our thin clothes, still damp from the pool.
“We’re never going to make it back at this rate,” she gasps as my mouth trails down her neck.
“I’m fine with that.”
“I’m starving.”
“I have a protein bar.” I find that spot just below her ear, the one that made her moan earlier, and I’m rewarded with another soft sound.
“I want real food. And a shower. And-” She loses her train of thought as my teeth graze her collarbone. “That’s cheating.”
“What’s cheating?”
“Doing that thing with your mouth when I’m trying to have a conversation.”
I do it again, just to watch her reaction. Her head falls back against the tree trunk and her fingers dig into my shoulders, and the sound she makes goes straight to my cock.
“What thing with my mouth?” I murmur against her skin.
“That thing.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She shoves me away, laughing, and starts walking down the trail. I let her get a few steps ahead, enjoying the view from behind - the sway of her hips, the way her hair catches the light, the glimpse of skin at the small of her back where her shirt has ridden up.
I catch up within three steps, and my hand finds hers like it belongs there. Like it’s always belonged there.
“Dinner tonight,” I say. “Somewhere off the resort. I know a place.”
“Another hidden gem?”
“The best hidden gem. Family-run. Been there for three generations. Best pad thai you’ll ever eat.”
“You seem very confident about that.”
“I’ve been coming here for years. I know all the spots.”
She glances at me, curious. “Years?”
I don’t answer right away. The question brushes against truths I’m not ready to share - who I really am, what I really own, why I really know this place so well.
“My family has connections here,” I say finally. “Business interests. I’ve been visiting since I was a kid.”
“Business interests in Thailand?”
“Among other places.”
She watches me for a moment, and I can see her deciding whether to push. I hold my breath, waiting for the question that will force me to either lie or confess.
But then she shrugs, and something in my chest loosens.
“Fine,” she says. “Keep your secrets. But the pad thai better be incredible.”
“It will be.” I lift our joined hands and kiss her knuckles, tasting salt and sunscreen and something that’s just her. “I promise.”
We walk in comfortable silence for a while, the jungle alive around us with birdsong and rustling leaves. Every few minutes, I find an excuse to touch her - brushing hair from her face, steadying her over a slippery rock, letting my hand rest on the small of her back just to feel her warmth.
And every few minutes, I find myself thinking about her in that pool.
The way the water ran down her body. The way her skin looked in the dappled light. The way she didn’t immediately cover herself when she realized I was staring, like part of her wanted me to look.
This woman.
This impossible, beautiful, stubborn woman who doesn’t know who I am or what I have, who looked at me in a bar and saw just a person, who rises out of water like a goddess and kisses like she means it.
I’m in so much trouble.
And I don’t care.
We walk the rest of the way down the mountain hand in hand, stopping to kiss against trees, to press together in the humid air, to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
***
Melody
The restaurant is everything he promised and more.