Excerpt from Esme’s Novel
Iwake up to the smell of something burning.
Snapping my eyes open and thrusting myself out of bed, I race out of my room and into the—
There’s a shirtless, oversized bronze man with mussed dark curls and a tattoo sleeve on his left arm flipping a pancake in my bungalow kitchen.Wildest dreams do come true.
Memories from last night crash into me like the ocean waves against the edge of this hut at high tide. Noah Ashley Ashton, who gave me his middle name right before kissing me senseless out on the deck. Noah Ashley Ashton, who swept me off my sandaled feet and into those capable, muscled arms God blessed him with. Noah Ashley Ashton, who I did not ask to rewire my heart in the course of a night, laying me down on the hammock attached to the roof before he attempted to climb in after me and got us all twisted up in fabric, rope, and each other.
Somehow, the contraption ejected me first, and I hit the rug underneath it with a thud. Noah followed soon after, but thankfully, I’d crawled out of the way in time.
We lay on our backs, roaring with laughter. Every time I thought I might be done because my abs ached, we’d turn our heads toward one another and the fit would start all over.
That lasted well into the night, broken only by kisses, conversation about anything and everything except our personal lives, and the occasional light snacking while sitting on the deck watching the stars shine for the two of us. At some point, we fell asleep, and I think Noah might have tucked me into bed.
But that memory is a little hazy, and I’m also not entirely sure I didn’t dream that part.
All in all, last night, I promptly forgot about being a rejected bride because of this wonder of a man. At least in comparison to the ones I’ve experienced.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” Noah’s deep voice snaps me out of my midnight-memories stupor.
I realize I’ve been staring at him this entire time. He waggles his brows before tossing the pancake into the air with the frying pan. It flips effortlessly and lands right back in the pan before he places it back on the gas stove. I’m glad he knows how to use that thing. “Like what you see?”
“Very much so,” I hum as I wrap my arms around my chest, clinging to the oversized T-shirt I put on sometime after the hammock incident last night. (And yes, I’m wearing cotton sleep shorts underneath. We kissed and cuddled last night, nothing else. I woke up alone, though I was surprisingly sad about that. All ofthisis new to me.) Once I’m right beside Noah in front of the stove, I add, “That pancake looks delicious.”
“You mean I look delicious,” Noah retorts, flipping the pancake once more. “Take a bite out of me.”
A thrill runs down my spine, and I learn that innuendos—at least the way Noah says them—take my mind spiraling to places it probably shouldn’t go. When I kiss him, it’s different. I’m in the moment, enjoying the innocent bliss of the magicalsensations, and could kiss him until I die. But when he says remarks likethat, my mind conjuresother waysto find new sensations. Ones I won’t allow myself to explore because of my beliefs. I redirect. “Nah, the hammock did that well enough last night.”
Noah’s laugh is rich and hearty, and I want to bottle it up and take it back to Mississippi with me. Pull it out when I need a boost of serotonin or simply want toremember.
“Did you sleep on the sofa last night?” I ask.
“I, uh, slept on your floor.” His voice lowers and he catches my gaze. “It took all my willpower not to crawl into bed with you.” My eyes must betray my concern because he quickly adds, “Just to cuddle. You looked unbelievably soft and warm, and I wanted to hold you all night. But I know that could have led to more.”
My heart hammers in my chest, but not from fear.
From wondrous desire. A concept I didn’t know I could actually experience with a man.
And thankfulness.
Because had he not had the discipline, I know good and well I would have thrown those Christian morals of mine right out the window. Island Esme needs a tighter leash. Or maybe it’s just Noah. I’ve never battledwantlike I did last night with him. Like I am right now. It’s new. It’s glorious. And I know I can’t give in to it.
But I can kiss my vacation fling. As long as I remember my boundaries and trust that he has his. Once more, I eye his necklace. He’s a flirt, but I think we are on the same page. But it’s best to make sure.
I rise onto my tiptoes, place my hands on his shoulders for stability, and kiss his flirty mouth long and slow, savoring the minty taste from his toothpaste. “For the record,” I whisper against his hypnotic lips, “I wanted that, too. But thank you forchoosing the floor instead of ravaging me. Is this us setting that boundary right here and now for the rest of the week?”
He humsyesagainst my mouth and then breaks the kiss, turns his attention back to the stove, and finishes cooking breakfast. I set to work preparing the table out on the deck. I set the white plates out, procure the silverware, and light a candle. Then, I take a moment to close my eyes as the morning sun caresses my skin and the salty ocean breeze wraps me in a hug. I can’t believe I’m here right now, and I’m not mad or sad or angry. I’m…
Utterly happy. Content. At peace.
My responsibilities are at bay.
I’m free.
Authorities still haven’t caught the man who tried to take me yesterday, but with Noah here, it doesn’t matter. Creepy Guy was probably fibbing about having a knife anyway.
Footsteps echo from behind me, and then Noah’s arms loop around my waist, his chin resting against my shoulder as I lean back into him. “I think this is as close to heaven as I can get on earth, love.”
