Noah’s pupils dilate, desire flickering within their depths. But he swallows. “No, ma’am. We were going to wait until we were married.”
“But you wanted to?”
He sighs deeply, his head lolling back and a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he stares at the ceiling. “Esme, sweetheart. I’m only a man. And you are the most stunning creature I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” Noah releases anotherbreath. “I’m a virgin. We had this talk back in Bora Bora, but I want to reassure you once more in case it’s one of those memories you forgot: I’ve always wanted to wait until marriage, and I’m still clinging to that.” He smirks. “Even if you read smut.”
I roll my eyes. “So, didthoseconversations really happen?”
He chuckles, eyes brightening. “Yes. All jokes. But you left out some important dialogue.”
“Hm?”
Fire ignites between us as he whispers in a throaty voice. “I told you that I didn’t want you reading smut because I want my wife’s thoughts to be utterly consumed with me.”
“I wrote something similar—”
Noah places his finger on my lips. “And,” he continues, his voice lowering to a sultry depth, “whatevermy wifeand I do in bed will make a smut reader blush.”
Tingles run up my arms and into my stomach, rippling down my legs. At my heated face, Noah starts to say something about how he believes in the sanctity of the marriage bed, but I drag his lips to mine before he speaks further.
He’s startled at first, still as a statue, but then he sighs, sinking into me. Noah wraps one arm around my back and pulls me flush against his chest, deepening the kiss as he coaxes my lips apart. He hums against my mouth and nuzzles my nose with his. “I’m glad you’re still willing to make out with me, though.”
My body reacts at the explosion of emotion coursing through my veins as he captures my lips once more. Kissing Noah is like tasting the sun—hot, chaotic, and energizing. My hands find their way to his hair, and I relish in the smooth texture, tugging gently on the hair at the base of his neck. He groans, his hand splaying across my lower back as he holds me tighter.I know him, I know him, I know him,my soul sings on repeat, filling me with awe and wonder at the familiar way he feels against me.I move my lips to his jaw as his breaths become labored. I trail down until—
The faint scar across his neck jars me, and I pull back.
A question I should have asked so much sooner dawns on me. “How did you survive the attack? I remember,” I swallow. “I remember the knife at your neck before I lost consciousness. I wrote about it, as you know.”
Noah’s eyes flicker from dazed to haunted as he straightens. “I elbowed him and attempted to spin out of his grasp. It worked, but the knife had already done its damage. I had just enough strength to jump on top of him, knock him down, and bang his head into the boardwalk. Over and over. Until he was passed out. Then I crawled to you.”
Tears stream down my face, my heart swimming with emotions. I look at the scar running across his neck, proof of his love for me. I trace it with my fingertips before my hands move to his cheeks, one slipping into his hair.
My eyes flick back up to his, and regardless of the jumbled knot of emotions within me, one perfectly strong strand stands out in a golden flame, but I can’t believe it. Not yet. People don’t fall in love in a week, regardless of what I wrote. That was fiction. This isreal. Raw, beautiful, and real. “Thank you for saving me.”
“I would save you again and again and again, sweetheart.” He claims my mouth once more in a gentle manner, wrapping one hand behind my neck while the other slips behind my back, pressing against him in an awkward position on this little couch. The kiss is slow, hesitating, as if he’s still unsure if it’s okay for him to initiate.
I break the kiss and straddle him, pushing back against the cushion. A thin, angry line, slightly lighter than his skin, runs from one side of his neck to the other. Rocks gather in my throat as I try to speak, but no sound can move past them as I stare at the evidence of Noah’s love for me. Men often say they’d take abullet for their woman; Noah took a knife across the throat for me. Was stabbed in the side. Beaten and placed in the ICU for a week. He pushed me out of the way and put himself in danger for me. For a woman he’d only known a week.
“Noah Ashley Prewitt,” I manage to get out in a gravelly voice. Then I lift his chin with one hand to get a better angle. Dipping to bring my lips to his neck, I pepper the light scar from the shallow cut with soft kisses. Each one a well-overdue thank you and apology.
“Thank you for saving my life.”Kiss. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”Kiss. “Thank you for protecting me.”Kiss. “I’m sorry I forgot you.”Kiss. “I’m sorry I forgot our conversations and our kisses and our memories.”
Noah groans, leaning his head further back as I continue to kiss across his scarred neck. A shiver runs through him, and he pushes me back before pulling my lips to his, his fingers gripping my hips for dear life. We kiss and laugh and cry, sometimes all three at once, as emotions I never thought possible swirl to life within me.
I’m so lost in the rightness that is Noah that I don’t notice my door opening until it’s too late.
“Ope. My bad,” a familiar voice calls, and I detach my lips from Noah, but I don’t move to get off him. It’s only Sam.
“Yes, your bad,” I growl, not even looking away from a dazed and red-faced Noah. “I was being thoroughly kissed by the man who saved my life.”
Noah laughs breathlessly, coming back to his senses. He looks around my shoulders as I roll away, though not leaving his lap entirely. “You must be Sam. Hi, I’m Noah.” He holds out his hand, while I play with his disheveled curls.
Sam reaches around me to shake his hand. “It’s good to meet the man of my best friend’s novel.” Noah smiles, but Samcontinues, “However, I suggest switching your position because Ethan’s gonna be coming in any second.”
“Not like you don’t use my brother as a chair in front of me,” I murmur, but I jump to my feet anyway, knocking my head against Noah as he stands at the same time as me. “Ouch,” he says. “Hard head.”
“That she is,” Sam agrees, laughing. “Glad you’ve already caught on.”
The camper shakes as Ethan walks up the three stairs and through the door. “Did someone say my sister has a hard head?” His voice is deeper than usual as he spreads his legs and crosses his arms. He shifts his attention between me and Noah, no doubt noticing our frazzled and unkempt states. I run my fingers up and down Noah’s arm.
