Chapter 8
Sophie
Iwasn’t a woman who got distracted easily.
I’d delivered twins during a power outage, performing a C-section while the anesthesiologist sang Taylor Swift lyrics and the father-to-be filmed.
But none of that prepared me for my attraction to this man.
“Kian Cortes,” I whispered, tasting his name on my lips.
He’d left the beach, but I could have sworn on my life that his eyes remained on me.
I glanced around one last time, scanning the shoreline, but the beach remained empty. The sea glittered beneath the sun like scattered glass, stretching endlessly beyond the curve of yellow sand. Waves whispered as they slid in and out, their soft rhythm the only sound keeping me company.
Kian was still nowhere to be seen.
So, with a quiet sigh, I let my gaze fall back to my book, willing the words to pull me under and distract me from this restlessness.
I tried to focus on the sentences in front of me, talking about unrequited love and Italian vineyards, but I ended up rereading the same page five times.
Frustrated with myself, I snapped the book shut.
I’d survived overnight shifts, crying patients, and hospital cafeteria food, but apparently, one annoyingly handsome silver fox with a suspiciously calm demeanor was my undoing.
As if summoned by my thoughts, he reappeared on the other end of the beach a few hours later. Or the sun was getting to me.
I closed my eyes, then opened them again.
He was still walking toward me, a small figure in the distance, so I pretended not to recognize him and adjusted my sunglasses. I lowered my eyes to my book, feigning interest. I even turned a page I hadn’t read.
But the whole time, I felt his eyes on me.
Holy shit, are you supposed to feel someone’s eyes on you so intently?
My heart hammered against my ribs. My breaths were shallow. It made no scientific sense.
Finally, I looked up, and all the air left my lungs in a swish.
Clad in white swim shorts, Kian closed the distance between us, granting me full view of his incredible body. Tan skin covered the six-pack abs that were making my mouth water. His shoulders were broad and his front was decorated with the perfect amount of chest hair.
I fully forgot to breathe.
He stopped at my feet and my heart pounded like I’d just run a marathon—not that I ever had, but it surely felt like this. A rush of heat shot to my lower belly, and I shifted uncomfortably.
His espresso eyes dipped to my breasts, and I swallowed.
He smiled, his gaze sparkling with amusement.
“Are you actually reading,” he said, his voice smooth, “or just pretending to?”
I smiled back sweetly, the way I did when a patient’s husband asked if Google would replace my medical degree.
“Depends,” I said, feeling my nipples harden against the fabric of my bathing suit. “Are you actually staring at my boobs, or just pretending to?”
He laughed, the sound making everything inside me melt. “Touché.”
Then I remembered I was on his private beach. “Do you need me to go?”
“No, I actually came to keep you company,” he said, taking a seat next to me. “Unless you’re set against it.”
I snorted. “Considering it’s your beach, I wouldn’t dare. However, I would love some company. Traveling alone isn’t all it’s hyped up to be,” I admitted.
“Why not?”
I tilted my head pensively. “Well, it’s somewhat lonely. And I miss my job.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a doctor.” I didn’t feel like expanding on it. “And what do you do?”
“A bit of this and that.” Well, that’s not vague at all.
I waited to see if he would elaborate, then continued when he didn’t. “Although, being in a foreign country with limited channels has its perks.”
“Oh yeah?” He seemed to be a man of few words and superb English, now that I thought about it. “Like what?”
“For starters, I find watching the news in Albanian quite refreshing. I have no clue what they are saying, so I don’t need to stress, wondering if the world is on fire.”
“Do you usually stress about that?”
“I guess so, when I watch the news. Which I actively avoid.”
For the love of God, were we making small talk? I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I did this, usually finding it pointless.
“How long have you been traveling?” he asked, closing his eyes as he tilted his face to the sun.
“About three months.”
I tried—really, I did—not to let my eyes roam his body, but it was an impossible feat. The man was built to be admired. Even the muscles on his legs were sexy, conjuring up all kinds of wildly inappropriate images in my mind.
Seriously, what’s happening to me?
“That’s a long time to be away from home,” he remarked without opening his eyes. “Running from a man or something else?”
Worse, his ex. The words were on the tip of my tongue.
My chest squeezed painfully, the secret weighing on it tangled with loneliness, and I wanted to blurt it all out. Take a load off, so to speak. Surely spilling to a stranger would be okay?
Suddenly, fear crept in and I immediately masked it with irritation. I lifted my sunglasses and pinged his profile with an annoyed stare.
“Why do you assume that?” I asked in a harsher tone than necessary.
He opened his eyes and rolled his head on the cushion to face me. “Why else would a woman travel alone for three months straight?”
I scoffed. “Maybe it’s on my bucket list. Maybe I love living out of my suitcase.”
His body went still. “I offended you.”
Irritation ignited hotter and hotter. “Whatever. I’m done with the beach.”
I jumped off the lounge chair and started shoving my few items into the beach bag.
I couldn’t articulate why his assumption upset me.
Maybe because it hit a bit too close to home, or maybe because it was my decision to give a man a second chance that ultimately led to everything in my life imploding.
“Sophie—”
“Thanks for letting me hang out,” I spat out and rushed out of there.
I couldn’t afford to talk and get mixed up with another man, especially one who couldn’t even give a straightforward answer about what he did for a living.