“I know. I’m so sorry, Nolan,” I whisper, holding his gaze steady. He stands, crossing the small space to close any distance that still exists between us. Though his normally bright gaze feels guarded, he places a gentle hand on my arm. “The way I snapped… The things I said… I didn’t mean them. I should have stayed and apologized right there. I knew it the moment I walked out the door.”
“I know,” he replies, his voice gruff.
“I thought…I thought you were making fun of me,” I admit. “I was already feeling really vulnerable, and when you called me out for making up excuses to see you…I was embarrassed. I felt like a lovesick teenager.”
He lets out a quiet laugh at that, and I duck my head sheepishly.
“Chloe, I’m not laughing at you. And I wasn’t mocking you, either,” Nolan murmurs, reaching out to gently tip my chin up so our eyes can meet again. “I love the way we can be playful with one another. And if I take things too far, just tell me. I’m a tough guy, I’ll survive if my joke isn’t funny. But I never want, or mean, to hurt you.”
He flashes me a warm, absolutely heartbreaking smile, and I practically melt. Kyla was right: Nolan Braddockisa living, breathing green flag.
“Plus,” he adds, “if anyone here is a lovesick teenager, it’s me.”
“You?” I sputter.
“Do you know how many times I’ve left the kitchen and ‘gone for some air’ just hoping to catch sight of you filming around the ship?” he asks earnestly, like it isn’t a rhetorical question. Still, I answer.
“Um…no?” My cheeks are burning as I imagine him casually strolling the deck, pretending to be going for a walk, when really he’s looking forme.
“Yeah, well…many times. Do you know how expressive your face is when you’re behind the camera? It’s like you’re experiencing everything completely unfiltered. You’re smiling and frowning, sometimes laughing or smirking. Most people mask those expressions in the moment—and I know you do it, too, when you don’t have the camera to hide behind. But when you do, you’re just…you. It’s beautiful.”
I don’t know what to say. All I can do is groan and bury my face in my hands to hide the idiotic smile plastered across my burning face. No one has ever seen me the way Nolan has. The camera has always been my shield, especially the more I was told it’s where I belong. But for some reason, it doesn’t feel like a shield with him.
Nolan steps closer and tugs my hands away from my face, forcing me to look up at him. I swallow as I take in the way his gaze has darkened, how his long eyelashes fan across his skin, lining heavy lids and pupils blown wide.
Without giving myself the opportunity to change my mind, I reach up to gently brush my fingers against Nolan’s cheek before bringing them to rest at the back of his neck, tangling in his gentle curls. I rise up onto my toes until we’re face to face. And then I do something that feels somehow more vulnerable than kissing. I tilt my head, rest my forehead against his, and close my eyes.
I feel his breath hitch, his hands gently curling around my hips. One small movement and our lips would be touching—but I don’t want to move. For the first time in a verylong time, I feel safe. I’m at ease in his firm embrace and drunk on the comfort that has long since disappeared from my life.
We stay like that for a few beats, and then his hand begins to travel, his fingers tracing my spine up, up, up until they lace through my hair. Nolan’s head drops to my shoulder, just above the hem of my shirt. His nose grazes the sensitive skin, and his lips touch a gentle kiss just under my chin. Then another—this time along my jaw—and another, his hands tangling further in my curls as he walks me backward, toward the closed door. His kisses start out tender, but as each one presses into my skin, I feel the tension begin to pull tight.
A quiet whimper escapes me, but it’s cut short as his mouth finds mine. His lips are warm—moving gently, lightly, at first, and then deeper. Urgent, but not greedy. Direct, but not rough. His scent—citrus and cinnamon—grounds me, and I tighten my arms around his neck, one hand cradling the back of his head, my fingers weaving into his hair. I kiss him back desperately, almost needy, like I’ve been lost, parched in the desert for years and his genuine kindness and optimism have just come into view like a whole damn oasis.
He kisses me deeper, pulls me in tighter, and a need blossoms in my core while another aches in my chest. His hand grasps tightly just above my hip, fingers grazing just under my shirt.
Nolan’s holding back, I can tell. But his restraint is balanced on a knife’s edge, and I know that at any moment he will let go.
I want him to. I want to disappear into him. I want him to devour me.
There’s nothing I want more than to fall into this moment completely.
A flash of Nolan and me on his desk, doing things we probably shouldn’t be doing just a few feet away from where food is prepared, excites me, but also snaps me back to reality. I suddenly remember why I’m here, why I snapped, and why I have to make up with him before getting off the ship. BecauseI do have to get off the ship, that is. To find Molly, to fix things with her. To fix my career.
I pull away, breathless, my hand on his chest as I try to right myself and remember how to talk.
“What’s wrong?” His eyes search my face, concern etching his brow.
“I want nothing more than to keep doing what we’re doing…but I have to go.”
“Does this have something to do with what was going on in your room when I came by?” He leans back, putting some distance between the two of us, but doesn’t let go of me.
“I kind of managed to…lose…one of the contestants,” I admit, glancing up at him with a half-hearted smirk. His brows lift higher in surprise, and his mouth, still swollen from our kiss, drops open slightly.
“Now I understand why everyone was so angry.”
“I know where she’s going. I just have to follow her, convince her to come back to the ship, and then make it back before we leave port tomorrow night.”
“Where do you have to go?”
