And just like that, my husband's stolen my breath.
Again.
Oh, how I’ve missed that smile. Confident. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Am I blushing? Definitely not.
I take another sip of the tequila and lick my lips.
Then, before I can stop myself, I say, “Gauzy… but not too gauzy. Considering I, uh… didn’t have anything to wear underneath.”
Beckett chokes on his drink. “Ash…”
I shrug, all innocence. “My swimsuit was still wet.”
His brow lifts. “So you’re not wearing?—?”
“Nope.” I cross my legs slowly under the table. My toes graze his shin. “It feels good. Breezy.”
And just like that, he’s signaling for the check.
NAUGHTY GIRL
ASHLEY
After possessively steering me out of the restaurant, through the soft-lit resort lobby, and onto the waiting shuttle, Beckett takes my hand—and doesn’t let go.
At security, he releases me—just for a moment—so we can send our bags through the X-ray belt and walk through the scanner one at a time.
My palm feels suddenly bare. Cold.
But the second we’re through, he takes my hand again.
Like it’s instinct.
We walk the gangway together—long, sloped, echoing slightly underfoot.
And he still doesn’t let go.
Not when we squeeze into the elevator with half a dozen other passengers, our shoulders brushing, his thumb tracing slow, steady circles into my skin that feel more intimate than a kiss.
Not even when we reach our deck.
Somehow—miraculously—he’s still holding my hand when he unlocks the cabin door.
It swings shut behind us.
The lock clicks.
And then I launch myself at him.
I kiss him like I’ve been starving for it—and I have. His hands are in my hair, on my hips, my back, tugging me closer as I fumble for the buttons on his shirt, popping one of them off in my urgency.
He breaks the kiss long enough to yank it over his head, and I kick off my sandals.
“You never should’ve told me that.” His voice is wrecked, barely more than a growl. “You have no idea what that did to me.”
My breath stutters, but I take a second to feign innocence. “Oh?”
