As I rub sleep from my eyes, I contemplate the least-disruptive way to escape his inferno but eventually give up. Despite the sweat prickling at my hairline, it’s nice waking up in his arms, with his breath fanning out gently over my shoulder, his scent surrounding me. My mind drifts to last night as I admire the early-morning sun filtering through the window, a breeze rippling the gauzy sheer curtains.
We’re in the same position we fell asleep in, on top of the covers with the edges pulled over us. Only, apparently Irolled over in my sleep, so while Nolan is clearly asleep, hisveryalert cock is pressing firmly against my ass, with his arm slung over my waist and his fingers splayed wide over my stomach.
I close my eyes for a moment, taking everything in, thinking about how easy it would be to arch my back and push into him, rousing him for a little morning roll in the?—
Fuck.
It’smorning.
I shoot straight up, jostling Nolan awake.
“What’s going on?” he rasps, bleary-eyed as I scramble off the bed to my feet. I dive for my phone, which is still plugged in across the room, to check the time.
It’s almost 9 AM.
Which means it’s been five hours since we fell asleep. I haven’t slept like that in…God, not since my first shoot.
Nolan sits upright, a massive yawn cracking his jaw.
I would have preferred to spend more time admiring his abs and the dark trail of hair traveling down from his belly button and disappearing under the blanket…but I have to focus.
And looking at Nolan is having the opposite effect.
I drag my attention back to my phone to check the tracking app. “Molly’s already moving. Looks like she’s leaving the cathedral.”
I rush to use the bathroom, then brush my teeth as I get dressed, throwing on a clean T-shirt and jean shorts. I have to search for one of my shoes, which managed to get pushed under the bed last night. Meanwhile, Nolan, a little slower than I’d like him to be, begins to get up and search for his own clothes.
The urgency in my movement must be obvious, because Nolan puts a gentle hand on my arm.
“We’ll find her, Chloe. But we still have to check out. Do you want me to do that while you go after her, and I’ll find you?” His brows are knit with concern as he eyes me, but I’mcomforted by the knowledge that he’s obviously in tune with the warring emotions swirling inside me.
“That works,” I nod, nearly breathless now that I’m dressed and packed. “I guess I’ll text you when I find her?”
“Actually, why don’t you take this?” He pulls his smartwatch off and hands it to me. “Molly had the right idea, although for her it was for the wrong reason. I can track my watch like you’re tracking yours. I’ll come to wherever you are.”
“Thank you,” I manage. We stand still for a beat, our eyes meeting for the first time, really, since we both woke up.
“Last night was?—”
“I had a really nice?—”
We laugh.
Then we’re moving toward each other, our bodies meeting in an eager embrace. Nolan’s hand slips to the back of my head and he weaves his fingers into my hair. I pull myself closer still, fisting my hands in his shirt as he angles my head up for a deeply intense kiss.
I don’t know how long we kiss for, but when we break apart, we’re both panting. And Nolan’s adjusting his pants again and cursing under his breath.
“You go. I, uh…I’m going to need a minute,” he says with a shuddering breath. I take his hand in mine and kiss his palm. He caresses my cheek gently.
Then, without another word, I slip out of the room, down the stairs, and into the crowded streets of Amalfi, my lips still swollen and tingling from our kiss.
I keep the tracking app open on my phone as I walk so that I can follow Molly’s movements. She doesn’t make it far from the cathedral and the surrounding Piazza Duomo before she comes to a stop near Mandingo Beach. But what should only take me a couple of minutes to travel takes me ten, due in largepart to the narrow road and the sheer volume of pedestrians.
The road—Via Duca Mansone—is the main artery of Amalfi, and it pulses with tourists, merchants, and even the occasional car. In any other situation, I would pause to marvel at the sun-bleached buildings, or stop in at a café and enjoy an espresso and a pastry. Instead, I focus on dodging souvenir-touting men and several groups of slow-moving seniors who must be part of a bus tour. They’re all wearing bright purple T-shirts and speaking a language I don’t recognize.
Finally, I make it to the quaint little stone beach. It’s still early enough that the tourist area isn’t packed, and I catch sight of Molly’s honey-blond hair quickly—she’s sitting on a lone beach lounger, cross-legged and fully clothed. An odd sight to see amongst the other nearly nude sunbathers.
I stalk toward her without thinking. But as I draw closer, a little flutter in my belly stops me short.
