19. James
JAMES
James opened the door of their room and gestured for Lauren to enter first. She did, flashing him a smile as she went. She wore a beautiful purple dress, one he’d seen on her before and admired. It left her back bare and hugged the outline of her curves.
This evening had been wonderful. He’d enjoyed talking with her.
He’d enjoyed the quiet moments they’d shared with no pressure to work or do anything else.
He’d enjoyed getting to know her better.
He’d enjoyed seeing who she really was, beyond work and the pressures of life, and showing her who he really was.
That was why he’d kissed her. Not for show, not for the cameras, not for any reason beyond that he’d wanted to — and he’d thought she had, too.
In fact, he’d forgotten for a few moments that they were even supposed to be putting on a show.
The camera flash had surprised him as much as it had seemed to surprise her.
But then Lauren had complimented him on his quick thinking, and James had gone along with it. They were supposed to be pretending to be in love, after all, not kissing because they wanted to.
“Well, I’ll head to bed,” Lauren said. She set her purse down on the couch and started for the bedroom, then paused. “Actually, I’ll have some chamomile first. If this place has any.”
“It does. I had them stock the kitchen with a few different kinds of tea.”
Lauren paused halfway to the kitchen to look at him. “Thanks.” There was something unreadable in her expression.
“It wasn’t a big deal.” He followed her into the kitchen.
Part of him knew he should withdraw, but he wasn’t ready for the day to end just yet.
And anyway, the day would end with them in bed together.
Last night, he’d struggled to sleep; he’d been so aware of her presence right beside him, of her slow breathing, of each of her small movements as she settled in.
“Do you want anything?” she asked. “Coffee?”
“No, thanks.” James poured a glass of water and took a long drink. “Thanks for the offer, though.”
“I know you well enough to know that you’d wake up in the middle of the night to drink coffee and then go back to sleep if you had the chance,” Lauren said. She winked, then turned and got a mug out of the cupboard.
“You know me well,” James replied with a smile. Then he paused. “You know me. Well. And I know you.”
Suddenly, his denial shattered. He’d kissed Lauren because he’d wanted to. And why shouldn’t he have? Lauren had kissed him back without a hint of hesitation. She’d wanted it, too.
They were both enjoying their newfound closeness.
He knew that. And yet, neither of them wanted to admit it.
Maybe it was time that he stopped being so chicken.
If he admitted to Lauren that he cared about her and wanted to kiss her — and more — it wouldn’t be the end of the world.
He couldn’t predict the future. He didn’t know what would happen when they returned to San Valentino.
But he did know that he wanted to kiss her again, right now, and for much longer than he had on the yacht.
If Lauren felt the same way he did, of course.
Lauren was taking the box of tea out of the cupboard when James called her name, softly. She turned around, her blue eyes wide, and met his gaze.
“Yes?”
He closed the distance between them until they were only inches apart, until Lauren had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. Her hips rested against the counter.
“The kiss,” he said. “The one on the yacht.”
“Yes?” she asked again when he didn’t continue.
“It wasn’t for the cameras,” James admitted. “I danced with you, I kissed you, because I wanted to.”
“You did?”
“I did.”
“And what do you want now?” she asked. Her voice sounded breathless, and her pink lips were ever so slightly parted.
“You,” James replied without a flicker of hesitation.
For a long moment, James thought he’d misread the situation and that Lauren didn’t want that at all.
Then, so slowly that his heart began to race with anticipation, she rose onto her toes and put her hands on his shoulders.
Then she closed the gap between them. Her lips were soft and hesitant at first, and she tasted a little like the margaritas they’d shared.
Then, when James responded by wrapping his arms around her and kissing her back, she pressed closer and deepened the kiss.
It was everything James had imagined and more.
Kissing Lauren, now, in the privacy of their bungalow, was earth-shakingly, time-stoppingly magnificent.
For a few moments, they were all lips and hands and warmth and breath.
Lauren slid her hands into James’s hair to pull him closer, and he lifted her off the ground until she could sit on the counter, bringing them face-to-face.
“James,” she breathed.
“Lauren,” he replied. He kissed her again.
And then, as he caressed the smooth skin of her back, he realized this was moving quickly. It was one thing for Lauren to want to kiss him, and another to do more.
“Should we stop?” he asked.
“No,” Lauren whispered into his mouth. She kissed his cheek, his jaw, the tip of his ear. “Don’t stop.”
So, James didn’t. He carried her to the couch. Then they were kissing again. He could hardly believe how gorgeous Lauren was, every inch of her. He wanted nothing more than to explore the rush of feelings that swept over him. He wanted nothing more than her.
All thoughts of the future disappeared like soap bubbles in the air. Their arrangement didn’t matter. His business didn’t matter. Only Lauren mattered.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” Lauren whispered into his ear.
James needed no further encouragement. He lifted her into his arms again, and he carried her to the bedroom, as effortlessly as if she weighed no more than a feather. She gasped and looked up at him with eyes full of anticipation.
James’s last rational thought for a long time was that he wanted to remember this moment — forever.