Chapter 5 #2
I kissed her like I meant to keep her.
And when we finally broke apart, foreheads touching, both breathing like we’d run a mile—
She smiled.
Slow.
Dangerous.
Like she’d won too.
Her lips were still pink and swollen when we broke apart.
Breathing hard.
Foreheads touching.
My hands still at her waist like if I let go she might evaporate.
But the fire in her eyes?
Still there.
Not soft.
Not dreamy.
Sharp.
Demanding.
“Why didn’t you come back?” she asked.
Not playful.
Not teasing.
Accusing.
My brow furrowed. “What?”
“You vanished,” she said. “Next night. Same place. I waited.”
My stomach dropped.
“You think I stood you up?”
“You ghosted me,” she said flatly. “Which is rude. And stupid.”
I actually laughed once under my breath, shaking my head.
“No,” I said. “God, no.”
I stepped back just enough to see her face.
“My mom collapsed the next day. At work. I got a call at lunch and drove three hours north.”
Her expression shifted. Just a flicker.
Concern.
But guarded.
“I’ve been there all week,” I said. “Ripping out tile. Rebuilding her bathroom. Kitchen. Ramp out front. She can’t work nights anymore. I’ve been covered in drywall dust since Monday.”
She studied me like she was looking for the lie.
Didn’t find one.
“Hold on,” I muttered suddenly. “Shit — I didn’t call her today.”
I held up a finger.
Pulled my BlackBerry off my belt.
Dialed.
Put it on speaker without even thinking.
It rang twice.
“Ethan?” my mom answered, already warm, already worried. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, Ma. Just checking in. You eat?”
“Oh honey, your aunt and the girls came over for lunch. I showed them the kitchen. They couldn’t believe it. Linda said, ‘Can we hire him?’” she laughed. “I told them you’re booked solid.”
I couldn’t help smiling.
Sage watched me the whole time.
Something soft creeping into her face.
“They loved the bathroom too,” Mom kept going. “That shower is safer. I don’t feel like I’m gonna slip anymore. You did good, baby.”
My throat tightened.
“Good,” I said quietly.
“Oh — and did you ever find time to play that guitar again?” she asked suddenly.
I froze.
Sage’s head tilted.
“I—” I started.
Didn’t finish.
“Gotta go, Ma. I’ll call tomorrow.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hung up.
Silence hung between us.
Then—
“You’re in a band?” Sage asked.
I snorted. “No. That was a lifetime ago.”
“But you play.”
“Used to.”
She stepped closer.
Slow.
Her fingers slid onto my bare arm.
Warm.
Possessive.
I felt every inch of it.
“I didn’t like those women touching you,” she murmured.
Her nose brushed my shoulder.
She inhaled.
“You smell like cheap perfume.”
I laughed under my breath. “Yeah?”
I leaned in.
Slow.
Let my nose graze her collarbone.
Up her neck.
Coconut.
Salt.
Her skin.
Then something else.
“Funny,” I whispered near her ear. “You smell like him.”
Her breath hitched.
A soft sound escaped her — half gasp, half moan — and her fingers tightened in my shirt.
Her eyes fluttered shut for half a second.
Then opened.
Dark.
Dangerous.
“I think,” she said softly, “we should do something about that.”
My pulse slammed.
Jesus.
Everything about her was heat and gravity and yes.
Every cell in my body wanted to say screw it and pull her closer.
But—
I didn’t even know her last name.
Didn’t know where she lived.
Didn’t know anything except the way she kissed and the way she looked at me like we were already in the middle of something reckless.
This was moving fast.
Too fast.
Like flooring the gas on black ice.
Thrilling.
But one wrong move and we’d both spin out.
So I stepped back.
Just a breath.
Just enough space to think.
Her brows knit.
“You pulling away already?” she teased softly.
“No,” I said.
My voice rough.
Honest.
“I’m just trying to make sure I don’t crash into you at a hundred miles an hour.”
And God help me—
I wasn’t sure if I meant it as a warning.
Or a promise.
My hand was still wrapped around hers.
Somewhere between the fight and the kiss and the almost-too-much of it all… we’d never let go.
Our fingers were laced tight like we were both afraid the other might disappear.
The night hummed around us — muffled bass from inside, traffic down the street, late-summer air thick and warm and alive.
My heart was still hammering.
So was hers.
I could feel it through her palm.
Fast.
Wild.
Like we were both standing on the edge of something dangerous.
One wrong step and we’d go straight over.
Hook up.
Burn out.
Wake up strangers.
I didn’t want that.
God, I didn’t want that.
I wanted more than sheets and sweat and a name I forgot in the morning.
This girl…
She didn’t make me feel hungry.
She made me feel alive.
Like every nerve ending had been plugged into an outlet.
Erin had been comfort.
Cookies. Cocoa. Safe.
Sage?
Sage was lightning in a bottle.
A shooting star you break your neck trying to catch.
And I wasn’t letting her slip through my fingers.
Not like that.
Not fast.
Not cheap.
I tilted my head.
Smiled slow.
Wicked.
“I have an idea,” I said, winking.
Her laugh slipped out — soft and breathy and dangerous.
“Oh yeah?”
She tipped her head back when she laughed, blonde hair catching the moonlight like spun gold.
That dress…
Jesus.
It hugged her in ways that made my brain short-circuit.
I dragged my eyes away before I did something stupid.
Not tonight.
Tonight I wanted the story.
Not the mistake.
I squeezed her hand.
“Come on.”
We went back inside first.
Grabbed one more round with the crew.
Introductions.
Tony gave me a look like finally.
Mark tried not to stare.
Chris shook her hand like she was royalty.
Beth studied her quietly — protective, always.
Sage noticed.
Eyes narrowing just a little.
Until Sean showed up late, apologizing, kissing Beth’s cheek.
Something in Sage softened after that.
Like: okay… she’s not competition.
Still…
Her fingers never left mine.
Not once.
An hour later we were walking toward the marina.
City glowing. Streetlamps warm and gold. Harbor air salty and cool.
She stopped mid-step and kicked off her heels.
“These things are torture devices,” she muttered. “Fashion is a scam.”
I laughed.
Before she could protest—
I scooped her up.
She squealed.
Arms around my neck instantly.
I spun her once just to hear that laugh again.
“Better?” I asked.
She grinned down at me. “Did you just sweep me off my feet?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “Did I?”
We kissed under a lamppost.
Slow.
Soft.
A promise more than a spark.
Had to pull away because a cab rolled by and someone wolf-whistled.
We both laughed like idiots.
Then she hopped onto my back and I carried her piggyback down the docks, her shoes dangling from her hand, her chin tucked against my shoulder.
It felt stupid.
Fun.
Easy.
Like we’d known each other longer than twenty-four hours.
Like kids.
Like trouble.
Fresh teak under my feet.
Oiled wood warm from the day.
Thick lines coiled neat.
Sails tied down tight.
Artemis waiting like she always did.
I untied the dock lines and tossed them to her.
“Captain’s assistant,” I said.
She caught them, laughing.
I idled us out slow, city lights stretching behind us like spilled gold.
Found one of the harbor moorings—the big white buoy bobbing steady—clipped us in clean.
Engine off.
Silence.
Just water tapping the hull.
Wind.
Us.
I looked at her.
Grinned.
“You ready?”
She tilted her head. “For what?”
Instead of answering, I held her gaze.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Then I reached for my glasses.
Slid them off.
Set them down.
Her eyes tracked every move.
Watch next.
Unbuckled. Placed carefully beside them.
Like a ritual.
Like I was stripping off the world piece by piece.
Her breath changed.
Just a little.
Then my shirt.
I didn’t yank it.
Didn’t rush.
Just caught the hem and peeled it up slow, muscles flexing as the fabric slid over my ribs, my chest, my shoulders.
The night air hit my skin.
Cool.
After a week of swinging hammers and hauling lumber, my body felt different. Harder. Leaner. Lines sharper.
Not gym pretty.
Work pretty.
Real strength.
Her eyes went wide.
Not subtle about it either.
They dragged over me like hands.
And something dark and hungry lit behind them.
Yeah.
She liked what she saw.
Good.
I smirked and stepped out of my shoes. Socks. Then unbuckled my belt, slow enough to make her swallow.
Folded my jeans neat.
Placed them down like I had all the time in the world.
Teasing her.
Letting the tension stretch.
Her fingers twitched at her sides.
“Ethan…” she warned softly.
I just grinned.
Then I ran two steps and dove clean off the bow.
Cold water exploded around me.
Shock. Salt. Alive.
I surfaced laughing, slicking my hair back.
“Come on!” I called. “It’s perfect!”
She stood there for half a heartbeat.
Then—
Lightning.
Nothing slow about her.
Dress over her head in one smooth, impatient motion.
Gone.
A flash of tan skin in moonlight.
Long legs.
Strong stomach.
Black silk against gold skin. Smooth cleavage from her firm high, breast encased in satin.
Confidence, not shyness.
Like she’d never once doubted her body a day in her life.
My throat went dry.
She didn’t pose.
Didn’t tease.
She attacked the moment.
Two quick steps—
And dove.
Cut through the water clean and sharp, like a blade.
And then she dove.
Cut through the water like she belonged there.
Came up laughing, hair fanning around her like some kind of sea-born myth.
Floating on her back.
Glowing.
A mermaid.
I stared.
Thinking only one thing:
I am so screwed.
Because this?
This wasn’t a hookup.
This wasn’t a summer fling.
This was the kind of night you remember when you’re eighty.
The kind that changes everything.
The harbor swallowed the city noise the farther we drifted.
Just water.
Wind.
Lights blinking gold across the surface like fallen stars.