“You’re lying,” I state.
“It could be… fun.” He winks and places his hand over mine, his fingers sinking in the spaces as my hand flattens against the wooden deck. Oh, mercy. Lord, give me strength…“But, I don’t encourage that, Esme. You should know that right off the bat. Sex is sacred between a married man and woman.”
My brain is short circuiting.Who is this man?
“Well, I don’t,” I brilliantly articulate, staring down at our intertwined fingers. His hand looks like it’s eating mine for dinner, and I think I’d let it happen. I’ve never felt this way about a man before. It’s new. It’s invigorating. It’sdangerous.
My skin tingles with interest and desire as I move my gaze from our hands, up his tanned, sculpted forearms, and finally, my eyes snap to his face.
His stupidly gorgeous face.
Maybe I don’t need strength to withstand. Maybe I just need tolivefor a week. Maybe I need to be reckless and make forgivable mistakes.
I can have a vacation fling. I’m single. I’m sad. And he saved me. Quite frankly, I don’t want this man to leave my side until I know the perpetrator is caught. I shiver once at the thought of that guy finding me again.Thousand Bora Bora suns,I think, as if tricking myself into thinking I can deliver a good punch is the way to make it happen.
“Are you single?” I blurt before I can change my mind. I wait with bated breath for his answer.
Noah’s responding smile is wide, crow’s feet forming at the corner of his pretty hazel eyes. “I am. Are you?” His finger caresses one of mine.
I don’t have the courage to tell this beautiful man I was cheated on and forgotten at the altar like something old and discarded, so I merely nod, returning his smile and getting lost in his eyes now that I know I have full permission to. The depth of his eyes, which can’t seem to decide on blue, brown, or green, beckon me in.I want to jump.
Should I be worried about being alone in this bungalow with a stranger? I should be. Why am I not? Did his hotness break me?
No, his heroism touched me.
And where I had an off-putting feeling from the other guy immediately, with Noah, I feel safe. Protected. I can’t explain it; it just…is.
I eye his cross necklace, the emblem sitting right above his chiseled pecs. Yes, he must be a Christian. I’m safe. Inallways.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Twenty-eight. You?”
My heart dances even though I command it not to. “Twenty-six.”
Noah stares at me with a look I can’t quite name—disbelief? Fear? But also, joy?—and then his phone dings beside him. “Our food is here.”
I move to stand, but he stops me. “I’ve got it. You stay put and relax.” Noah’s voice is like the bass in the band, somehow rumbly and smooth simultaneously. He takes on a focused look like he’s prepping for a battle. It dawns on me he’s keeping me here in case it isn’t our food.
What a gentleman.
I swoon a little as he stands and walks through the doorway back into the bungalow. I lay down on my back and breathe. It’s my first moment alone since Noah stepped into my life acting like a real-life hero. I thank God for having Noah in the right place at the right time, and tears begin spilling from my eyes, rolling into my ears. They flow harder as my body decompresses, allowing every moment of frozen fear to come to the surface in the form of salty tears and full-body shakes.
God and I haven’t been on the best of terms. Why did He allow Ryan to cheat on me? Why did He allow me to get left at the altar?Why did I not listen to Him sooner and leave Ryan after he told me that I had too high of expectations for any man to reach in terms of romance?
I pretend that the last question doesn’t exist. Because if it does, I’m ultimately to blame, not God.
My life plan was going as I wanted.
Go to college.
Get a job teaching.
Find a good man.
Marry him.
But somewhere along the way, I started to dread teaching. I desired to write, to tell gripping romantic stories. I craved romantic gestures and butterflies in my relationship that had come to be a little… well, stale… regardless of the glorious way in which Ryan kissed me.
