Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
Max
Sunlight filtering through the gauzy curtains over the windows wakes me, and a contented sigh slips out of me when I find myself still snuggled in Flynn’s warm embrace. Even in sleep, we refused to move away from each other.
The events of last night come back to me in a rush, and my eyes drift closed. Barnard will probably announce Flynn as the winner this morning, which means I’ll be expected to leave immediately.
This might be the last time were alone together like this for weeks. Maybe even months. And knowing that, I refuse to waste a second of it.
Turning my head, I press a warm kiss to the center of Flynn’s chest. With a light touch, I skim my palm over his skin, memorizing every hill and valley of his torso before sliding my hand over his shoulder and around the back of his neck. Sifting my fingers through his hair, I marvel at how soft it is as I watch his sleeping face. His muscles start to twitch, and I smile as his sleepy eyes slowly blink open.
“Good morning,” I whisper, pressing another kiss to his chest.
“Good morning,” he repeats, his voice thick and husky with sleep. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur without enunciating, kissing him again as my fingers slide out of his hair and back to his chest.
Flynn hums with appreciation, then tightens his grip on me before rolling from his side onto his back. I end up on top of him, and when I brace my hands against his chest and push myself up so I can look down at him, I find him smiling as he blinks the sleep from his eyes.
My knees slide into place on either side of his hips, and I push myself upright before yanking his shirt off and tossing it to the floor. Flynn’s smile widens, and he reaches up to touch my breasts with gentle, yet firm fingers. My back arches as I hum with pleasure, and Flynn tweaks my nipples the way he knows I like.
I need him inside me. Now.
Shifting my weight to my knees, I lift up and drive a hand between us. Tugging his waistband down, I wrap my fingers around his cock and pull it free. Smiling at how hard and ready he is for me, I use my other hand to jerk my underwear aside. Angling him toward my opening, I sink down, taking all of him in a single, smooth motion .
Flynn’s mouth falls open with a harsh exhale as he watches me, his hands sliding down to grip my hips. Rolling my body, I ride him slowly until he suddenly levers upright. Wrapping one arm around my back and the other around my shoulder, he tangles his fingers in my hair and grips it tightly as he guides me up and down at a quicker tempo.
“You feel so fucking good, Max,” he whispers against my neck before pressing his open mouth to the spot.
I groan in agreement as my peaked nipples brush against his hard chest, intensifying the pleasure building in my core. My orgasm is coming, harder and faster than ever before.
I can’t pretend I don’t know why. It’s because I’m with Flynn, and I love him. Just thinking those three little words shoots me right over the edge, and I moan loudly as I grind down on him, letting him feel my orgasm against every inch of his erection.
Flynn grunts and freezes, and I feel his cock jerk with his own release. He hugs me against him even tighter, his rough exhales ruffling my hair as I feel his heart pound against my chest, its rhythm beating in perfect synchronicity with mine.
Tears sting my eyes at the thought of Flynn’s heart being the mirror image of my own as they beat at the same speed. Then I almost laugh at how sappy and sentimental I’m being. This is real life. Not some live-action fairy tale.
Leaning back, I meet Flynn’s eyes. He looks sated, but there’s something else in their blue depths. Something volatile and passionate. Something that––much like the beat of his heart––mirrors the emotion swelling inside me.
I open my mouth to speak, but before I can utter the three little words fighting to tumble out, a knock on the door startles us both. Pressing a palm to my chest, I take a deep breath.
“Yes?” I call out.
“Sorry to bother you, Miss Nolan, but Mr. Roxberry would like to meet you and Mr. Nightingale on the veranda in twenty minutes.”
My eyes widen, and Flynn’s do the same as we stare at each other. The valet including him in the request to me, rather than knocking on Flynn’s door, would infer he knows Flynn is in here with me.
“Okay, thank you. We’ll be there,” I call back as Flynn buries his face in my chest to muffle his laughter.
“Very good. I’ll let Mr. Roxberry know,” he calls back.
Gripping Flynn’s hair, I tug until he lifts his face from my chest so I can meet his eyes. “He totally knows you’re in here with me.”
He shrugs. “Can’t keep anything from the employees around here. They’ve probably known for days and just decided to stop pretending like we’re not together.”
I grin, preparing to tease him about assuming we’re “together,” but my smile falters when I realize that in twenty minutes, Barnard will ask me to leave the island. I won’t have to pretend to be happy for Flynn. I am happy for him. But I will have to pretend not to be gutted by our imminent separation.
“We should shower and get dressed. Don’t want to keep Barnard waiting,” I say instead, and Flynn groans playfully as he grips me tighter against him.
“Five more minutes,” he murmurs before pressing his lips to my breastbone.
“Sorry, buddy,” I say, injecting humor into my tone as I disentangle myself and climb off him.
Flynn falls back to the mattress with a mournful moan, then cracks one eye open to see if I’m falling for it. I can’t help but laugh at his antics, and his resulting smile lights up his eyes. Then he rolls off the bed and lands on his feet in one smooth motion, pulling his shorts and underwear up before smacking a kiss on my cheek.
“Fine. You win,” he says with a wink. “Meet you in the hall in fifteen?”
I nod, and he cups my cheeks before pressing several soft kisses to my lips. He hums a happy sigh as he releases me, then turns and walks into his own room, closing the door softly behind him to give me the privacy I desperately need.
My body folds inward the second I’m alone, and I shuffle to the bathroom to turn on the shower. I stare at my reflection as I plait my hair into a single braid that falls over my shoulder. I need to stop wallowing. I forfeited my chances at this opportunity for a reason, and I can’t get selfish now just because I’ll lose Flynn for a few months.
He’ll still be mine when he gets back to L.A. I just have to be patient.
I hop in the shower and repeat the mantra until I believe it. Once I’m clean, I dry off, brush my teeth, and head back out into the bedroom to get dressed. I pull on a black tank and a pair of denim shorts. Casual is fine this morning. No need to try to impress Barnard anymore, right?
After I finish getting ready, I slide on a pair of black sandals and step out into the hall where I find Flynn leaning against the opposite wall, his eyes devouring me before lifting to meet my gaze.
“You look gorgeous,” he says, pushing off the wall to take my hand.
“As do you,” I reply, my own gaze drinking in his appearance.
He’s wearing a violet button-down that makes his eyes pop with a pair of khaki shorts. He looks casual, yet somehow neatly put together, and fuck, I’m so proud of him right now. He’s going to kill this job and become a super-famous biographer and author. The world is at his fingertips, and all he has to do is reach out and take it.
“You ready?” he asks.
“As I’ll ever be,” I say, my tone teasing.
Flynn chuckles and pulls me along with him toward the staircase. He doesn’t seem nervous, at all. Like the outcome of this meeting means nothing to him.
I shake my head to clear the thought. I know that’s not true. This opportunity means everything to him. He just hides it well. He probably doesn’t want me to feel bad for him if I win.
Which, I won’t. But he doesn’t know that.
When we walk out onto the veranda, Barnard awaits us at the railing with his back to us. Flynn squeezes my hand once before releasing me, then clears his throat to gain Barnard’s attention. The old man turns to gaze at us, a wide smile on his face.
“Thank you for meeting me out here. It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” he asks, waving an arm toward the ocean and the horizon in the distance.
“It certainly is,” Flynn says while I just nod in agreement.
“Please, sit down,” Barnard says, motioning toward a small table with four chairs and three saucers with mugs waiting to be filled with hot coffee.
I’m nervous as hell as we take our seats. Not because I don’t know what’s going to happen, but because I do . Taking a long, silent breath to calm myself, I look over at Flynn and offer him a wobbly smile before turning my gaze on Barnard.
The man’s eyes shift back and forth between us while his eyes shine with an almost maniacal light. I fight the urge to give him a pointed look, an attempt to remind him what we’re doing here and that he should just get on with naming Flynn the winner. To beg him to put me out of my misery, already.
“I assumed this week would be eye-opening,” he begins, and I have to stop myself from sighing with relief. “But honestly, I haven’t been surprised, at all. You two performed just as I knew you would when I invited you here, and you’ve both proven to be excellent choices for this project. I know either of you would do it justice.”
His words leave me misty-eyed despite my attempts to pretend I’m on pins and needles waiting for Barnard’s answer. If I hadn’t given up my shot, and I was still actually in the running, I might’ve twisted his words in my head as some kind of pity, letting the loser down gently by putting Flynn and me on the same level.
But I know what Barnard is about to say, and he knows I know it. There’s no need to placate me with pretty compliments.
“And I’d already made up my mind before Maxine came to me and pulled out of the competition, throwing it to you, Flynn.”
My head snaps up, my eyes flaring wide at the same instant Flynn shouts, “What?”
I flinch then look over at him with an apology in my eyes. “I’m sorry I lied to you. But I don’t regret the choice I made. You deserve this, Flynn. I want this for you.”
Before he can respond, Barnard barks out a laugh. When I look over at him with an incredulous expression, his humor fades into something gentle and kind.
“Imagine my surprise when Flynn came to me later, asking to bow out so you could have the job.”
My head jerks toward Flynn so hard, I’m pretty sure I’ll need to see a chiropractor. His lips are pressed together to the point that they’re nearly white, but his tight expression softens as we continue to stare at each other.
“I felt the same way. You deserve to fly, Max.”
We all remain quiet for a few beats, then Barnard sighs in an exaggerated fashion, pulling both our gazes to him.
“For two highly intelligent and observant people, you sure have been remarkably dense this week.” He shakes his head at our confused expressions, then scrubs a and down his face like he’s frustrated. “What are the odds that two people who were close in college but haven’t spoken to each other in five years would end up on a tropical island together, vying for the same job, and would coincidentally be put in connecting rooms so they’d have no choice but to clear the air and work together in a ridiculously unprofessional competition to appease an eccentric old man who kicked everyone else out for the most asinine of reasons?”
“Wh-what?” is my only response as I try to work through that dense, convoluted word vomit.
“And the murder mystery?” he goes on, shaking his head with a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m surprised you didn’t realize how full of shit I was with that one. But you did me proud, working together to find the oh, so obvious culprit. Max. Flynn. I want you both. I want you to collaborate and co-write my biography. It’s what I’ve wanted all along, but I needed to give you time to work through your issues first. That’s what this has all been about. The other writers were nothing more than decoys.”
“Wait,” Flynn says, holding up a palm. “Are you saying this whole competition––the entire week––has been a ruse?”
That’s exactly what he just said, but I understand why Flynn is asking for direct confirmation. It’s…crazy, what Barnard is claiming to have done here.
“Just think about it. Please. I’m really looking forward to working with both of you,” Barnard says, then nods at each of us before pushing to his feet and disappearing into the house .
I look over at Flynn with wide eyes. “You asked him to let me have the job?”
“After you beat me to it, apparently.”
A few silent moments pass as we both let everything that just happened sink in. When Flynn’s lips start to twitch, mine follow suit, and soon, we’re both laughing with tears streaming from our eyes. Once the hilarity dies down, I clear my throat and smile at Flynn.
“I guess we’re both martyrs.”
Growing serious, he shakes his head and says, “I’m no martyr. I just love you too much to take away your dream.”
“You love me?” I squeak out, my heart having taken up residence in my throat.
“Only for the last seven years or so,” he says, and his tone may be flippant but his eyes are dead serious as he holds my gaze.
“I love you, too, Flynn.”
I’m out of my chair and straddling him in his before my next breath. We laugh as we kiss. I might cry, a little, too. Every emotion courses through me as it dawns on me that neither of us is about to have our dreams crushed. We both win, and we get to be together while living those dreams out.
“So are we doing this, or what?”
“Definitely,” I say.
I kiss him again, then pull back to stare into his eyes. We don’t have to hide anymore. Barnard knows we’re together, and to hear him tell it, orchestrated the whole thing, himself. We’ll be spending every day together as friends, coworkers, and lovers with no competition between us.
We can just be happy.
We can just be us.
We can just be .
And I’ll be kissing Flynn whenever the mood strikes. Like right now.
“I love you,” I whisper when I pull back to meet his eyes.
“I love you, Max. Always have. Always will.”