Chapter 4
4
Natalie
Nick smells divine.
Does he have no flaws? I don’t know if I’m enamored by his perfection or annoyed by it, but he smells too good to worry about the rest. With my nose stuck to his back, technically inhaling , he smells of bergamot and musk mingling with masculinity and great sex.
I cling to him, the wind awakening my skin just as Nick’s exhilarated my insides. I’m not sleeping with him , I remind myself. I’m on a self-induced love embargo after my last relationship went awry. Anyway, I’ve never been one for vacation flings, preferring to hook up with someone I could see again. Of course, I hadn’t met Nick before either, sooooo . . .
Stop overthinking. I can hear Tatum telling me those words herself. Enjoy the ride as we zip back to the hotel. I might be on two wheels, but Nick keeps his word and drives in a way that makes me feel safe.
I straighten my back and look around the beautiful island as we zip around it, but I keep my arms wrapped around him.
Glimmering like diamonds under the late afternoon sunlight, the tips of the ocean waves are mesmerizing. If I could bottle this sight with the wind kissing my skin to gift, I’d make millions. Not a video knock-off. The vacation itself has to be added to my catalog. Not right now though, so I put business aside and enjoy the view myself.
I couldn’t ask for a better end to summer, and even though we ventured around the island today, it’s been nice to relax at the pool, read a book, and drink while dancing last night away. I honestly don’t care about another party on some yacht in the harbor when staring at this stunning sight.
The ride back to the hotel flies by too quick, and as soon as we pull up to the front, a valet greets us before we can even remove our helmets. While Nick tips him, I take my helmet off and fluff my hair, and then drop my hands to my sides like I wasn’t being a total girl wanting to look good for him when he comes around the scooter. “Ready?” he asks.
“Actually, I’m not ready,” I mumble under my breath because Nick is more than a hot guy I met at a bar.
“What was that?”
As we walk toward the door, my stomach fills with the impending goodbye, and I reluctantly reply, “Yes.” Just inside the hotel doors, I stop and look around the bustling lobby. When I turn back to him, awkwardness has become a third wheel. “This has been . . .”
“This has been . . .” He looks down and starts laughing. A shyness has crept over his features, and his eyes find mine again. “I don’t know what to say, Natalie. You?” I shake my head. He shoves his hands in his pockets and lets a few seconds pass before he rocks back on his heels. “So, we’re here.”
“We are.” I mimic him by dipping my fingers into my pockets. “Although I had concerns, we arrived safely despite the two wheels. Thanks for that.”
“Thanks for trusting me with your life.”
“Two times in one day. If we’re not careful, this could become a habit.” When a couple walking arm in arm cuts a little close to me, I move closer to Nick. Waiting for them to pass, I keep an eye over my shoulder.
When we’re alone again, he says, “Would that be such a bad thing?”
His eyes are darker in the shadows of this space between—left to the parking lot and right to the lobby—but I can still see the playfulness in the golden edges. “So far, it hasn’t been.”
“Give me enough time, and I’m sure I’ll blow it.”
“You say stuff like that, but I have a feeling that like earlier, the great Nick doesn’t blow much.” My hand flies to cover my mouth. Through slits of my fingers, I wince. “That did not come out how I wanted at all.”
Through a restrained chuckle, he asks, “How’d you want it to come?”
I hold my finger up. “I, uh.” His twist of words causes my breath to stagger, and I bite my lip. I’m not even sure he was insinuating anything, but my body reacts like he most certainly was. I cross my arms over my chest to keep them from grabbing hold of him, clinging to him like I’ve become a regular fixture around his parts—a new freckle or I’d even settle for a blemish, but he clearly doesn’t have any of those. “Well, it’s been?—”
“Are we already back to impersonal goodbyes again? I was hoping for?—”
Screw it. I move in, ready to show him just how personal I can be. “For something more personal.” Throwing my arms around his neck, I close my eyes just as I plant my lips on his. But when nothing happens—not a peck, not a great lip embrace that leads to a tango of the tongues—I jerk back and find his eyes fixed on mine but warm like melted chocolate. Delicious. Except that rejection crawls under my skin and starts setting up residence.
Just when I step back, he grabs my arms, capturing me before I can escape my humiliation. “I didn’t expect that.”
“Pfft.” I try to blow it off. I may not be able to run from him, but I can look everywhere else around him and search for cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling, a crack in the plastered walls or please Lord, give me the strength not to care that he didn’t want to kiss me. “Oh God, yeah, no worries. I didn’t either.”
He tilts his head, and the slightest of lines creases between his brows. Even curiosity can’t detract from his good looks, though. And damn those dimples that appear out of nowhere. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, Natalie. I just?—”
“Yeah, I just . . . too.” Wait, that makes no sense. “You know, I think it’s best if I go now. This weekend isn’t about hooking up with a straight from the pages of my favorite magazine model just because I fell purposely into his arms. “
“Purposely?”
“Ignore me. I’m babbling.”
“You’re impossible to ignore.” Speaking of impossibilities, he’s hard to read. Was that a compliment or an insult?
I’m not sure. That’s my cue to exit. Thumbing over my shoulder, I add, “This was a girls’ trip.” I snort-laugh, not even meaning to make a joke, but that one just fell into my lap. “Pun intended. Get it? I’m a girl, and I tripped?”
I like that he laughs when I’m trying to be entertaining, even if I’m not that funny. “I got it. Glad I could be a part of that trip. Pun intended.” He winks, and yeah, take me out of the oven because I’m done—hot and ready to be eaten. Though I’m getting a little ahead of myself with the last part.
Ticking through the pros of why I should be walking away—early morning flight, the no-sex clause I agreed to, and him smelling so good that I know I’d lose all my sensibilities in a night of passion. Though that last one should go on the con list.
I back away, begrudgingly distancing myself, and let my gaze trail after a bellman. Two words: Love. Embargo. I clap and take another step back. “Alrighty then.” Pushing my hand forward and raising my chin, I say, “It’s been interesting, Nick.”
“That it has.” The heat and the spark of electricity between us has my heart kicking into gear. “So, this is our farewell?”
“It’s probably best, don’t you think?”
“Best for whom?”
Have I ever said how sexy I find it when men know how to use an objective pronoun? My knees get weak, but I manage to steady myself . . . by latching onto his arm. “Sorry,” I reply breathlessly. “I think the alcohol has gone to my head. I should have taken you up on the offer of food.”
“It’s not too late. Offer still stands.”
Soooo tempting.
I knead his bicep like a kitten on a scratch post and then take another step back, knowing the rum is starting to overrun all rational thought, or worse, control my libido. Only bad things happen when I follow my hormones instead of listening to my head. “I appreciate it, but I should call it a night. Early flight and all.”
“That’s too bad.”
His gaze lingers on me before glancing over his shoulder. “I’m down this hall.”
“I’m down that one.”
“Opposite directions.”
“Seems that way.” Dread begins to deteriorate the thrill he had me feeling. I know what I should be doing, but my feet refuse to walk away. I sigh, staring down at the gold threads running through the heel of my shoes. “Yeah, I guess so.”
I like that neither of us makes a quick escape, but I wish he’d give me a reason to stay. I mean other than asking to buy me dinner and keep me company. Ugh. I’m really starting to hate my responsible side. I swallow down my apprehension and say, “Goodbye, Nick.”
The distance grows between us, but he doesn’t make a move to leave. “Goodbye.”
A beat or two passes before I turn to leave, walking with purpose down the corridor.
“Hey, Natalie?”
Happiness bubbles inside me, and I whip around. “Yes?”
“I’m in room 203 if you’re ever in the neighborhood or need a lift.”
It’s so easy for him to make me smile. Not sure how he does it, but I can’t let alcohol dictate my decisions. Nothing good ever comes of that, including two ex-boyfriends I wish I’d never met.
With Nick, I may not be drunk, but I do wish I’d met him under different circumstances. “I appreciate that, but I don’t think I’m getting on two wheels again anytime soon.”
Smugly curling in an arm, he smirks. “I meant me.” It’s low-key bragging, but with him, I can let it slide because if I was giggling before, now I’m full-on blushing.
My chest gives me away with heavy breaths. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks again for the ride,” I reply, memorizing that grin that gravitates to meet the dimple in his cheek and the scruff that took a solid day or two to grow. The windswept brown curls that formed from the helmet are tempting me to run my fingers through them. He’s just so . . . gah .
When I look at him, really look at him like I am now, I know I should be embarrassed by my rejected kiss, but I think I’m the lucky one now. If he’d returned it, I’d still be lost in the feel of his fullness pressed to mine, our lips sating a desire I feel even now.
No, he won’t be easy to forget.
No one-night stands with hot guys.
No man-crazy crap anymore for me. I’ll leave that to Tatum. I need to focus on myself and my needs this time around. Exhaling, I’m set in my stance and start walking again. “Good night.”
“Suddenly, it’s not feeling so good.”
I turn back, too hopeful, considering nothing can come of this. Damn those dimples. I knew better than to look. “What isn’t?”
“The parting ways thing we’re doing.” The smile disappears as he looks down, seeming to search the Saltillo tiles under our feet. When his eyes find mine again, he says, “I’ll see you around.” It’s not a question or an invitation. Just a statement put out there to settle in the air between us.
“Look on the bright side. Next time, we won’t be strangers.”
A light chuckle vibrates through him. “Yeah. Next time . . .”
Nodding, I wave. “See you around.” We both turn away at the same time, heading in opposite directions—in the hotel and in life. Despite the burning desire to run after him, I don’t. Going our separate ways is best. I’ll order food and can start packing. Tatum will be back before I know it, then tomorrow, we’ll catch our early flight back to Manhattan.
A quiet dinner.
A glass of wine on the patio.
Then to bed before we trek back home.
There’s definitely no need to tangle a man into my plan and complicate my life. Who cares about dimples and scruffy jaws, sinful eyes and those big hands?
Not me.
Nope.
I stop in front of the door, but instead of relief, panic sets in. “Oh, no.” Patting my back pockets, I search for anything that will get me into this room— the key, my phone, ID. I don’t even have money or a credit card. “ No. No. No. No. No. ” I slam my hands against the wood. “Ugh!”
Tatum! Damn her.
I carried our stuff this afternoon when she insisted a purse ruined the look of her bikini. Tonight, she carried mine since I didn’t have a purse that wouldn’t get in the way of our carefree fun. A lot of good that did me. It’s so out of the way it’s on a yacht somewhere in the harbor.
A couple comes around the corner, drawing my attention with their laughter. I’m not exactly lost in the desert, stranded with no hope of finding civilization. But before I get wound up even more in that direction, I head for the front desk. I’ll be in the room in five, ten minutes tops. I rest my hands on the cold stone counter in front of an attendant, my gaze dipping to her name tag. “Hi, Uma, my traitor of a roommate took off for a yacht party, leaving me without a key to get into the room or even a phone to call her.”
She smiles so sweetly. “This isn’t the first time I’ve heard of that happening, but it usually ends with them losing the key in the harbor. The good news is I can help. Name and room number please?”
“Natalie St. James. Room 351.”
After tapping a few keys, she narrows her eyes on the screen. “All right. I see your name right here, Ms. St. James. I’ll just need to see your ID.”
“Oh. Well, I don’t have that either. See, it was my best friend’s turn to carry our stuff in her purse since I carried it to the pool.” Resting my arms on the counter, I laugh from the memory. “It’s actually very funny because we were out shopping for a little purse for me, but then we came across this bar, and if they put the straw hat on your head, you have to drink.”
“Sounds like Later Gators.”
I snap. “Yes, that’s the place. Any how, we’re sharing a suite, but the Vespa got a flat, and there were two guys so sweet and helpful.” Leaning forward, I whisper, “She went with Harrison to the party, and I returned to the hotel with Nick, though I hate two-wheeled anything. Although I didn’t hate being on two wheels with him. In fact?—”
“Sounds very eventful, Ms. St. James?—”
“You can call me Natalie,” I offer since we’re bonding and all.
“I’m sorry, Natalie. I can’t give you a key without seeing ID. Is there anything else I can help you with today?” Despite straightening my back, my shoulders still fall under defeat as I stare at her like we’re speaking different languages, and I don’t have a translation app. Her smile never falters, though, making me suspicious. Suddenly, I don’t think she’s as sweet as she appears. She adds, “It’s hotel policy for the safety of our guests.”
“But I’m a guest.”
Her smile zips into a straight line, and then she holds her finger up when the phone starts ringing. “My apologies again.” She directs her attention toward answering the phone and turns a cold shoulder to me.
Leaving the desk, I wander to the lobby lounge. I only stand there a moment before I not only feel out of place among all the couples but my stomach also growls, garnering unwanted attention—mine to be precise.
When a certain man’s room number floats through my head, I begin to believe it would be perfectly okay for me to barge in on him. Would it? He did invite me, after all.
Not two minutes later, I find myself standing in front of room 203. Staring at the san serif silver numbers, I take a deep breath, readying myself for battle. That’s what this will be—a war waged between what I shouldn’t do and what I really want to do. My hand is raised, and I knock three times before I can change my mind. The pinpoint of light seen in the peephole goes dark, and then the door swings open.
Met with his welcoming grin, I shrug. “I was in the neighborhood.”