Breath catches in my chest; my body is a statue.
I sober up real fast.
“Good girl.” The man wraps an arm around my waist and shoves against the back of my legs with his knee. “Walk. And smile. Don’t even think about calling for help. I need you.”
Help.I should call for help.
God, help. If You care, help. Please help.
He could be bluffing about having a knife.
Or not.
Fear grips its dark tendrils around my neck, and my mind runs through a million possibilities of escape.
As I take step after step with a pasted smile of horror upon my face, I imagine myself throwing my body away from his fingers digging into my waist. I would punch him and kick him down after that and then run and scream until every eye was on me. I would point at him and yell that he has a knife.
Yes. That’s a good plan.I can do it. I can do it. I can do it.
Courage swells within me, and right as I decide to spin out of his arms and punch him with the force of a thousand Bora Bora suns, the man falls face-first into the blistering, white sand as gasps ring out from beachgoers around us.
I’m frozen once more as I eye the guy who tried to take me away squirming to his feet. A bronzed and broad-shouldered wall of a man steps in front of me, muscles rippling across his back as he raises his fist and punches the other man square in the nose as soon as he struggles to his feet.
The guy who attempted to take me stumbles backward before running away, holding his nose. A resort worker approaches us after he runs away and starts inquiring if everyone is okay and what happened.
I’m silent and stunned as the stranger who stepped in to help me turns around, revealing the most handsome, concerned face I’ve ever seen, stealing my breath for a whole other reason. I don’t know who this man is, but my soul leaps and dances and preens under his intense gaze. I have the urge to reach toward him, to cling to him forever. Safety seeps into my bones as my eyes flick down to his silver cross necklace.
“Are you okay?” he asks in a raspy, breathless voice, running a hand through his dark curls. His entire arm is tatted in a symphony of bramble and buds. I manage a nod, and he turns to the resort worker. His voice is thick like honey, slow, and Southern. “That man was trying to take this woman against her will, I think.”
The beautiful stranger eyes me for confirmation, and I nod once more. My mind has done a one-eighty, and the kidnapping attempt is the furthest thing from my thoughts as I stare unashamedly at the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my entire existence.
He and the resort worker discuss the details back and forth. This man must have been watching the entire scene play out from afar because he tells it exactly as it happened.
Minus the knife.
“He said he had a knife,” I finally blurt, coming to my senses and wishing I would have said it sooner. The kidnapper guy is no longer in view as he’s blended into the crowds of people on the beach and boardwalk.
The stranger curses, and immediately, he and the resort employee work together to get the police on the phone. The next few hours are spent in a whirl of questioning, describing, anddoing lots of paperwork. By the time the police let me and the man whose name I’ve learned is Noah Ashton go free, it’s well past lunchtime, and my stomach is eating me alive.
And despite my show of bravery and courage that was rudely interrupted by a Justin Baldoni lookalike hero, I’m a little frightened to leave this wall of a man’s side until the creep who tried to take me is apprehended.
Noah must sense that.
Once we leave the police municipality of Bora Bora and step foot back onto Forever Summer Resort, Noah asks if I’d like to accompany him for lunch.
“That would be nice.” I smile a smidge too widely at him, sticking close by his side as we walk on the boardwalk of the resort. We pass person after person, and fear saturates my blood every single time I spot a middle-aged balding man.But I have a punch worthy of a thousand Bora Bora suns,I remind myself.And I have now acquired a Noah Ashton.
Noah must take notice of the inherent fear I can’t seem to shake. He runs a hand through his luscious-looking black curls, mussing them before he speaks. “I know we are strangers, but I promise you I’m safe. I’ll provide references if you wish. Would you want me to take you back to your bungalow and order food to be delivered there?”
We pause, and I meet his eyes. They are warm and hazel with golden flecks. His smile is genuine, laugh lines appearing as it grows wider. “That won’t be necessary,” I state, grinning at my luck to meet such a handsome man on day two of this unwanted solo honeymoon. “The references, I mean. Lunch at my bungalow sounds like a date.”
“A date,” he reiterates, his smile somehow growing bigger. Noah offers his large hand to me, and I take it, feeling utterly safe with the man towering over me, acting as my fortress. Aswe begin to walk toward the bungalows overlooking the ocean, I sneak another glance at my rescuer.
He was shirtless when he stepped in and saved me from the guy, but now he dons a classic white T-shirt taut over his well-defined chest. His waist tapers into massive legs that could rival the trunks of Mississippi white oak trees. Noah is a wall. Beautiful, broad, and brick. Donald Trump would approve.
“Like what you see?” he asks, catching my gaze. I immediately shift my eyes away, heat creeping into my cheeks.
Very much.“Thank you for helping me,” I say, ignoring the comment until I decide if I’m going to flirt back. “I promise I was about to attempt my escape, but I was worried about it.”
