The night air carried the brine of the sea and the distant hum of the boma’s music. Each step seemed to heighten the pull between them, until the only sound that mattered was the soft scuff of their shoes and the twin rhythm of their breath.
She handed him the glasses and dug a key from the pocket in the folds of her dress. He marveled at how steady her hands were when his own trembled slightly.
The door swung open, and they slipped inside. He nudged it shut with his foot and set the glasses on the nearest available surface.
For a second, neither of them moved.
The only light came from a reading lamp lit beside a deep wingback, the soft glow pooling across the room in golden warmth. The sound of the waves drifted through the open window, the steady rhythm of the sea matching the pulse thudding in his chest.
And then the distance between them simply ceased to exist.
Their lips met.
He drank her in — small sips, a sensory exploration, indulging himself, savoring their connection. The taste, so sweet; the feel, so soft.
Kissing Suzette …nirvana.
Experiencing her response … her fingers weaving through his hair, urging him closer … her body melting against his, yielding, offering …
Transcendent.
He angled his mouth on hers, their tongues tangling. His pulse crackled through his veins, urging him on.
More. He needed more. He neededeverything.
Shewaseverything.
And the words tore free from somewhere deep inside him. “You’re my everything, Suzette Bosch. Without you I’m an empty vessel — a shell of a man.”
16
For a moment, she could only stare at him, her breath caught somewhere between disbelief and wonder. He kept saying the most wondrous things, but this … this was different. It was raw and certain, stripped of everything but truth. This was real.
Her fingers trembled as she cupped his face, her thumbs tracing the faint stubble along his jaw. Words failed her — at least for now — so she showed him instead.
She kissed him again, slow and sure, pouring into it everything she couldn’t yet say aloud. All her hopes, her longing, the quiet promise of something lasting.
He drew her closer, the hard press of his body unmistakable, his breath quick and uneven against her skin. The air between them seemed to thrum, charged with need and unspoken understanding.
Justin broke the kiss, his forehead resting against hers as he tried to steady his breathing. “Bedroom,” he rasped, his voice rough. “Now,” he murmured.
Suzette turned, her pulse hammering, and crossed the room with him close behind — each step thick with anticipation andthe certainty that this was her Rubicon. There was no turning back.
Nor did she want to.
Slipping off her sandals, she kicked them aside and moved farther into the room. She stopped at the foot of her bed, suddenly aware of the mess. The soft glow from the bedside lamp illuminated the evidence of her earlier wardrobe crisis — clothes strewn in careless disarray. Perfect. He’d think she was a slob.
But then his hand brushed her spine, found the zipper, and tugged. The sound was quiet, intimate, and suddenly her thoughts were gone, lost in the hush as her dress slid to the floor. His hands came to rest on her hips, anchoring her. His breath brushed her neck, hot and uneven, before his lips found the tender place just beneath her ear.
“Look at us, Suzette.”
She frowned in confusion, until the gentle pressure of his hands turned her toward the mirror in the far corner. The sight stole her breath — his body behind hers, his gaze locked on hers in the glass. Her wearing nothing but matching pale green underwear and a beaded pendant.
The sheer surrealness of it all broke through the haze — JK Kenzie, silver-screen heartthrob, her lifelong crush, stood behind her.
A ripple of panic surged through her.
What on earth are you doing, Suzette?
