Chapter 21
ELIJAH
“Gracias, amigo,” I say, offering a slight nod.
The bartender slides my drink across the bar with a reassuring wink, then turns his attention to a shaker full of something fruity and overpriced.
Beside me, Alex lounges with the kind of ease that only comes after a power nap and a barefoot stroll along the beach.
He looks refreshed, sun-warmed, and just the right amount of smug as he lifts his local beer to his lips and takes a long, contented sip.
That signature, show-stopping smile of his flashes at the bartender—and, of course, it lands like a charm grenade.
The bartender’s eyes linger on Alex a little too long for my liking. But then he turns away, busying himself with mixing another round of cocktails. Still, I can’t help but wonder… does he recognize him?
It wouldn’t be a stretch. There’s a fashion magazine in the hotel lobby with Alex on the cover. He’s dressed like a Wall-Street shark—sharp suit, slicked-back hair—but that one-sided dimple? Dead giveaway. No amount of styling can hide that.
Not that Alex is out here flaunting his fame. If anything, he does everything he can to downplay it. He prefers the anonymity, the quiet corners of the world where no one’s snapping photos or asking for autographs.
But anonymity isn’t really in the cards when you’ve got a face like his. That dimple. Those eyes. The easygoing charm that makes people want to be near him—even if they have no idea why.
“It feels so good to be here,” Alex says with a happy sigh, absently picking at the label on his beer bottle. His eyes are fixed on the horizon, the endless sweep of ocean stretching out before us. “I really needed this time away.”
The light hits his face just right, the sun’s glare bouncing off the waves and catching in his eyes, making the hazel flecks shimmer like fragments of glass.
“You have island eyes,” I murmur, sipping my bourbon as I glance at my watch. “We’ve got about an hour before we need to head out. Reservation’s at eight.”
“Okay,” he says, exhaling slowly, like he’s savoring the moment.
Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper.
“Ana gave me a list of things to sample. I hope they’re on the menu.
” He chuckles, unfolding it. “I’m looking forward to eating some authentic Spanish food…
but I’m also not so sure I trust her recommendations anymore. ”
I laugh, tossing a plantain chip into my mouth. The fresh garlic bursts across my tongue, and I let out a quiet moan.
Alex grabs a chip, examines it like he’s not quite convinced, then pops it into his mouth. The shift in his expression is immediate—pleasant surprise, then quiet satisfaction—as he reaches for another.
“Have you spoken to Gabriel?” he asks casually, still focused on the snack bowl.
But the question lands differently between us. Like a slow tide easing up on shore—gentle, yes, but impossible to ignore.
“Actually, I was just about to call him,” I say, fishing my phone from the pocket of my shorts. “He was supposed to take the girls out to lunch.”
I try to keep my tone neutral—casual. But something in the way Alex drums his fingers lightly against the rim of the bowl… something in the way he doesn’t look at me… tells me the question wasn’t casual at all.
Then again, it’s probably my guilt reading too much into nothing.
I lean the phone against the bowl of chips, tap FaceTime, and scoot a little closer to Alex, our shoulders brushing as the call rings, echoing faintly against the distant crash of the waves.
Gabriel answers on the second ring.
“Elijah,” he purrs, lips curled around a bright blue straw. He’s lounging somewhere misty and dim. He takes a sip of what looks like a strawberry daiquiri, condensation beading down the glass like sweat. “You are on vacation with Alex, and yet you are still calling me? I must say—I’m flattered.”
He raises his glass with a smug, lazy smile. “I could be on the next plane out if you’d like to make this a threesome?”
Then he shifts his gaze from me to Alex, tipping his daiquiri in greeting.
“Hola, Alex.”
“Gabriel,” Alex replies, tone clipped and dry as he reaches for his beer. “Are you in the hot tub?”
I close my eyes and groan into my glass of bourbon. Gabriel is going to eat him alive with that question.
“Ah, so observant,” he purrs, stretching lazily into the frame. The view tilts as he adjusts the camera, steam curling around him. “I would show off the red Speedo you like so much… but currently, I happen to be wearing my birthday suit.”
He grins into his drink, then lifts his eyes—gray, with a playful shine. “Which, I might add, happens to be someone else’s favorite attire.” His voice dips lower. “And for their eyes only.”
He winks.
Alex shifts beside me, stiffening. His jaw tightens.
And me? I suddenly feel very warm—and not in a good way.
We’re in big trouble.
“And who might that be?” Alex asks, voice cool as sea glass. He sets his beer down and leans back in his chair, arms folding slowly across his chest like he’s settling in for a fight.
I brace myself, draping an arm across the back of Alex’s shoulders, a possessive gesture I don’t even pretend to hide, and cringe as I’m forced to watch this ridiculous performance unfold.
If I could reach through the screen and throttle Gabriel, I would.
Then again, knowing him, he’d probably enjoy that.
Gabriel grins—smug, shameless. “Noah, of course,” he says, and then turns the screen with a flourish, revealing a smooth chest, a pair of long legs, and a face too pretty for his own good.
Alex stiffens beneath my arm. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t blink. Just stares.
At Noah.
“So nice to see you, Noah,” I say, breaking the silence before it chokes us. I give Alex a gentle squeeze, a silent warning to stay cool. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the hot tub with Gabriel.”
Noah smiles—soft, sweet, and just a little too perfect. “Hi, Elijah.” His voice is gentle, but I notice he doesn’t acknowledge Alex. Not even a glance. Between the two of them, I’m not sure who looks more uncomfortable.
“Gabriel insisted on speaking to me while we soak,” Noah adds, shifting slightly in the water. “And… he is wearing a bathing suit. As am I,” he says quickly, like it matters.
“Not for long!” Gabriel cackles offscreen, then pops back into view, grinning like the devil himself. He dangles a tiny turquoise Speedo from his finger. “Matches his eyes, don’t you think?”
Alex bolts, heading straight for the ocean.
I take another long drink of bourbon.
We’re officially past trouble.
This is war.
I snatch up my phone and start after him, my pace quickening into a jog. “Play nice,” I call out to Gabriel, the warning sharp in my voice. There’s no hiding the distaste. He can hear it. Hell, he can see it—written all over my face, etched in the fury behind my eyes.
I glance ahead and then back at the screen. “Noah, it was lovely seeing you again,” I say, voice cool but sincere. “Help yourself to anything in our home, love.”
Gabriel’s still smiling. I shoot him a look that could level cities. And then I end the call with a hard tap, cutting off the video mid-grin.
By the time I catch up with Alex, he’s storming ahead, jaw set, fists clenched.
Yeah. He’s angry.
ALEX
“I’ll be fine, Elijah. Just… give me a minute.”
My bare feet slap against the warm, packed sand as I head straight for the water. The ocean is impossibly blue—clear and endless—just like Noah’s eyes. And, apparently, the exact color of that tiny swimsuit I can’t seem to erase from my mind.
Which is so ridiculous. Noah means nothing to me. Just a harmless fantasy. That’s all. Everyone has fantasies, right?
Wrong.
Something tells me there’s more to this attraction than just a fantasy.
I drag in a breath. Salty air burns my lungs, sharp and cleansing, but my thoughts won’t still. They keep circling back—to the screen, to the wink, to Gabriel’s smug, infuriating grin.
Behind me, Elijah catches up and slips his arms around my waist. His chest presses to my back, solid and steady, and his plush lips tickle my ear with the softest hum. I let my head fall back against his shoulder, surrendering to the comfort of his presence, even as my emotions churn.
He doesn’t say a word. Just holds me. Lets me breathe. Lets the ocean speak instead.
“I thought I saw Gabriel at the airport,” I finally admit, my voice low, edged with something like embarrassment. “When I landed.”
“Mmm…” he hums, rich and warm. “Wasn’t him.”
“Obviously,” I mutter, staring out at the waves.
Elijah’s hum seems more Spanish-laced here, like the island has thickened his accent along with the air. Everything feels heavier. Slower. More exposed.
“You think I’m crazy, right?” I ask, just above the breeze. Exhaustion pulses through me. I lean into him fully, letting the hard lines of his body take some of my weight.
His silence is almost an answer.
But not quite.
A gentle wave laps over our feet, cool and soft, burying our toes in the wet sand. The tide sucks back out, dragging the shore with it, and I dig in deeper, letting the earth shift beneath me like it’s trying to ground something in me I can’t name.
“Can I ask you something?” Elijah murmurs, his voice low against my ear. His nose brushes the skin just behind it, and then he kisses my cheek—light, unhurried.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Sure.
“Do you want him?”
The question cuts through the moment, clean, unexpected.
I keep my gaze on the water. Another wave rolls in, swirling foam around our ankles as if the ocean is trying to listen too. “God, no,” I say, almost laughing at the absurdity. “I don’t want Gabriel.”
I turn in his arms, fitting my body against his. Our mouths so close that we’re already sharing breaths. The faint taste of bourbon still clings to his lips—warm and familiar—and I kiss him like the question didn’t rattle me.
“Don’t ever ask me that again,” I whisper. “The answer will always be no.”
“Good,” he says, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. His fingers drift lazily through my hair. “Because I wasn’t talking about Gabriel.”
My breath catches.
My eyes go wide.
“Noah.” I breathe out his name, so quiet it’s almost nothing, the wind stealing it the moment it leaves my mouth.