Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
SOMEDAY — SUGAR RAY
Waking up to Nolan’s solid body wrapped around mine is both the best and worst thing I’ve ever experienced.
Best, because—well, let’s be honest, the man is hot.
And last night was…incredible.
Worst, because when it comes to body temperature, the man is also…hot. As in, sweat-inducing-and-not-in-a-fun-way hot.
As I rub sleep from my eyes, I contemplate the least-disruptive way to escape his inferno but eventually give up.
Despite the sweat prickling at my hairline, it’s nice waking up in his arms, with his breath fanning out gently over my shoulder, his scent surrounding me.
My mind drifts to last night as I admire the early-morning sun filtering through the window, a breeze rippling the gauzy sheer curtains.
We’re in the same position we fell asleep in, on top of the covers with the edges pulled over us.
Only, apparently I rolled over in my sleep, so while Nolan is clearly asleep, his very alert cock is pressing firmly against my ass, with his arm slung over my waist and his fingers splayed wide over my stomach.
I close my eyes for a moment, taking everything in, thinking about how easy it would be to arch my back and push into him, rousing him for a little morning roll in the—
Fuck.
It’s morning.
I shoot straight up, jostling Nolan awake.
“What’s going on?” he rasps, bleary-eyed as I scramble off the bed to my feet. I dive for my phone, which is still plugged in across the room, to check the time.
It’s almost 9 AM.
Which means it’s been five hours since we fell asleep. I haven’t slept like that in…God, not since my first shoot.
Nolan sits upright, a massive yawn cracking his jaw.
I would have preferred to spend more time admiring his abs and the dark trail of hair traveling down from his belly button and disappearing under the blanket…but I have to focus.
And looking at Nolan is having the opposite effect.
I drag my attention back to my phone to check the tracking app. “Molly’s already moving. Looks like she’s leaving the cathedral.”
I rush to use the bathroom, then brush my teeth as I get dressed, throwing on a clean T-shirt and jean shorts.
I have to search for one of my shoes, which managed to get pushed under the bed last night.
Meanwhile, Nolan, a little slower than I’d like him to be, begins to get up and search for his own clothes.
The urgency in my movement must be obvious, because Nolan puts a gentle hand on my arm.
“We’ll find her, Chloe. But we still have to check out. Do you want me to do that while you go after her, and I’ll find you?” His brows are knit with concern as he eyes me, but I’m comforted by the knowledge that he’s obviously in tune with the warring emotions swirling inside me.
“That works,” I nod, nearly breathless now that I’m dressed and packed. “I guess I’ll text you when I find her?”
“Actually, why don’t you take this?” He pulls his smartwatch off and hands it to me. “Molly had the right idea, although for her it was for the wrong reason. I can track my watch like you’re tracking yours. I’ll come to wherever you are.”
“Thank you,” I manage. We stand still for a beat, our eyes meeting for the first time, really, since we both woke up.
“Last night was—”
“I had a really nice—”
We laugh.
Then we’re moving toward each other, our bodies meeting in an eager embrace. Nolan’s hand slips to the back of my head and he weaves his fingers into my hair. I pull myself closer still, fisting my hands in his shirt as he angles my head up for a deeply intense kiss.
I don’t know how long we kiss for, but when we break apart, we’re both panting. And Nolan’s adjusting his pants again and cursing under his breath.
“You go. I, uh…I’m going to need a minute,” he says with a shuddering breath. I take his hand in mine and kiss his palm. He caresses my cheek gently.
Then, without another word, I slip out of the room, down the stairs, and into the crowded streets of Amalfi, my lips still swollen and tingling from our kiss.
I keep the tracking app open on my phone as I walk so that I can follow Molly’s movements.
She doesn’t make it far from the cathedral and the surrounding Piazza Duomo before she comes to a stop near Mandingo Beach.
But what should only take me a couple of minutes to travel takes me ten, due in large part to the narrow road and the sheer volume of pedestrians.
The road—Via Duca Mansone—is the main artery of Amalfi, and it pulses with tourists, merchants, and even the occasional car.
In any other situation, I would pause to marvel at the sun-bleached buildings, or stop in at a café and enjoy an espresso and a pastry.
Instead, I focus on dodging souvenir-touting men and several groups of slow-moving seniors who must be part of a bus tour.
They’re all wearing bright purple T-shirts and speaking a language I don’t recognize.
Finally, I make it to the quaint little stone beach. It’s still early enough that the tourist area isn’t packed, and I catch sight of Molly’s honey-blond hair quickly—she’s sitting on a lone beach lounger, cross-legged and fully clothed. An odd sight to see amongst the other nearly nude sunbathers.
I stalk toward her without thinking. But as I draw closer, a little flutter in my belly stops me short.
Should I have a plan? How am I going to convince her to come back? How am I going to apologize for what I said without sounding like I’m just trying to get her back to the ship?
Questions swim in my mind, and I have no answers.
I hadn’t even considered any of this until right this second, as I stand, frozen, only a few feet from her.
I’ve been too distracted with Nolan, and my own potential firing, that I haven’t put myself in Molly’s shoes to really think about how she might be feeling, why she took off, why she’s been angry…
and what it is that Molly Spencer even wants.
Because try as I might, if Molly doesn’t want to do something—like return to the ship—she isn’t going to do it.
But I don’t have the opportunity to think things through any further, because a few seconds after I come to a stop, Molly seems to sense that she’s being watched and turns slowly to face me.
She doesn’t look surprised. Or angry. She looks…sad. Defeated.
A hundred questions filter through my mind, but the only one that I’m able to pluck from the chaos is, “Why did you come here, Molly? Why did you sign up for the show?”
I don’t know why I ask this question first. Maybe it was my conversation with Nolan in the car—his instinct that Molly came to see me, even if she had warned me off. She’s quiet for a moment, gazing out at the crashing blue waves once more.
“I dunno…love, money…sounded like a good time,” she says sarcastically, and I roll my eyes.
“That’s not why though, is it?”
As she turns to face me again, I expect to feel cut down by her icy gray gaze—its sharpness like a honed weapon. But today her eyes are dull—there’s no spark, no fight.
I’m concerned for a moment until she speaks, and I’m relieved to hear that her words still have an edge. “Why do you even care, Chloe?”
Despite her thorny tone, I can see her exhaustion in how she looks away from me and pulls her knees up for her chin to rest on.
I open my mouth to speak, then shut it again.
Why did I care?
It wasn’t just to save my own ass. Kyla had already pointed out that I didn’t even have to finish this gig if I didn’t want to. And she’s right. If I left Love and ended up getting a poor reputation in an area of the industry I’m not even interested in, it would make no difference.
I had come to smooth things over with Molly because I genuinely felt bad for what I’d said. Because I hadn’t meant it. And because I still cared for her. A lot.
“Because I was an asshole. And I wanted to say sorry,” I admit. She doesn’t respond right away—I’m not even sure if she heard me over the crashing of the surf. But just as I open my mouth to repeat myself, she speaks.
“I came to see you,” she says softly. And my heart stutters.
“Why?”
She angles her head toward me, resting her cheek where her chin had been, but doesn’t meet my eyes.
“I saw that post on your LinkedIn. And I did message you, I swear I did. But I was giving you a chance—if you were here, it was because you wanted to see me, too. And if you didn’t come, then…well, you weren’t interested.”
To anyone else, Molly making a bet like this would seem reckless—like her game of strip poker. But it wasn’t. She knew me. In her mind, it was calculated.
“Why come on the show at all? Why not just call me?”
She shakes her head, shifting her gaze to the waves again.
“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “It felt like kismet, seeing that post. I applied on a whim, and then when they called me, I knew…it was just supposed to happen this way. Plus, I wasn’t lying about needing the money. Things are tight.”
So, Molly traveled halfway around the world to see me, to see if we could make things right…and then the minute our eyes locked, it was like I was the villain, like I was the one who had to atone.
“I still don’t understand,” I say, stepping closer. “If it was your goal to be in the same place together, to make up, or whatever…why did you treat me the way you did?”
Her eyes meet mine now, and I hold her stare.
“Because I saw the way you looked at me that first day. There was no…kindness…in your eyes. You were surprised at first, but then there was something else. Like disgust. At first, I thought maybe you came to confront me, and you were going to make my life hell here, but then when you told me you didn’t even know I was going to be here…
I realized what a stupid mistake this was. Especially after what you said.”
“Molly, I was—well, I am an idiot. What I said to you was wrong. It isn’t even really how I feel. I was hurt, and angry, and I wanted to hurt you back. And I knew it would.”
“It did.”