“Yeah.”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. He held her like that until her sobs subsided, the pressure more comforting than words could ever be. Then he gently lifted her to her feet and guided her toward the bed. “I’m taking the floor. No arguing.”
“Okay,” she said, too weary to push back.
“You can sleep,” he said. “I promise, nothing bad will happen tonight.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Would the creator of the glockenspieltergeist lie to you?”
She was struck by how much she already missed the weight of his body. As he turned away, she asked softly, “Will you lay with me for a minute?”
Without a word, he climbed into the bed next to her. She turned onto her side to make room, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her backward against his chest. “Is this okay?” he whispered in her ear. “Just tell me what you need.”
“This is good.” Her voice was still shaky, but not as if she were about to cry. She was hyperaware of the fact that Zack wasn’t wearing a shirt, his skin warm against her own mostly exposed back. She was even more aware of the contact between their lower halves; her nightgown had ridden up so there was nothing separating the front of his pajama pants from the rather insubstantial back of her black lace underwear.
He tightened his hold but didn’t move his hand, which stayed in the safe zone between her breasts and her waist. The message was clear—he wasn’t going to make any kind of move, not when she’d just tearfully confided in him about her dying mom. But for the first time in a long while, those worries felt suddenly far from her mind. Her body had taken over, and all that seemed to matter was staying as close to Zack as possible. She tilted her hips back, a movement so subtle, he might not have noticed, had the extra contact not made her inhale sharply. The fingers on her torso twitched, and soon Zack was running his hand along her stomach. She felt his breath on her neck, her ear, then she turned to face him. There was nothing tentative about the kiss—her lips parted to make room for his tongue, which explored her mouth with the same gentle urgency as the fingers roaming her body. Zack’s hand ran down her back, slowly tracing her spine all the way to the bottom before squeezing her ass.
Every point where their bodies met—their hands, their cheeks, their thighs, their tongues—tingled to the point of aching. An ache Olivia was suddenly desperate to satisfy. As if reading her mind, Zack brought his hand to her thigh, lightly stroking it, his fingers dancing slightly higher each time. She couldn’t see his face, but she could almost imagine him smirking as she shuddered, taking the same pleasure from teasing her like this as hedid from their verbal banter. Her body pulsed with anticipation until it became almost too painful to endure.
He began to rub her underwear in just the right spot, the sensation so intense and surprising that she almost jerked away. He paused for a moment, then resumed with less pressure. “Better?” he whispered.
Olivia could only manage a nod.
Normally, Olivia would try to move things along at this point. One-night stands were never satisfying for her, and once the novelty wore off, she was keen to get to the next stage of the proceedings. But the thought of Zack stopping his current activity felt unbearable. Every time her breathing became more regular, when he felt her body relax, he increased the pressure slightly.
“Any chance you packed a condom in addition to eight different brands of hand cream?” she finally whispered. She felt so close to the edge, she had to pull herself back.
He laughed, his breath tickling her ear. “Yeah, I’ll get it in a minute.”
“Get it now.”
“You’re not the boss right now, counselor.” He slipped his hand into her underwear and found the spot again. Before her brain shut down completely, Olivia had the fleeting thought that she should perhaps do something to reciprocate, but as Zack’s hips rubbed against her, it became increasingly clear that he didn’t need any additional assistance.
Her breathing grew ragged, and just when she thought she couldn’t hold on any longer, he reached for something in the toiletry bag on the nightstand. He fiddled with the wrapper briefly, and then gently shifted her over so she was lying on her back. He lowered himself on top of her and pressed forward, her bodyyielding. As her breath caught, he paused and brought his face to hers, kissing her mouth, her neck, her ear, before returning to her lips, kissing her even more deeply as he pushed himself fully inside her. She gasped and clutched his back as he began to move, slowly but with purposeful intensity.
She wriggled and positioned herself so that every thrust made her nerves tingle. He followed her lead and adjusted accordingly. Olivia felt pressure building at a rate she’d never experienced before.
The world melted away. No one else existed; nothing else mattered except for the feeling of Zack. There wasn’t room for any other thought, any other sensation. The last thing Olivia remembered before falling asleep a bit later was the sound of her own contented sigh, and the warmth of Zack’s breath on her skin. As she drifted off, she felt certain he’d keep his promise to make sure nothing bad happened. At least, not tonight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWOMarigold
The guest room door creaked open, and Hugo stuck his head in. It was just before five a.m., but his long hair was damp and combed, a detail Marigold could spot easily because light had begun streaming through the blinds an hour earlier; this far north, the sun didn’t set for more than a few hours in the summer. She’d seen it rise after a restless night—despite her physical exhaustion, it’d been almost impossible to fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she imagined Jonathan lying in bed alone. She hadn’t answered when he’d called last night, terrified that some noise in the background would betray her true location: the crash of the waves, Humphrey’s nails skittering on the hardwood floors, the tread of Hugo’s boots. When those thoughts dissipated, she thought about her mother, who surely hadn’t slept much, either, torn between anxiety for Marigold and frustration that her heedless daughter had created so much unnecessary chaos.
And then there was what Hugo had said to her on the beach:“We gave it a shot. Now it’s time to move on.” The resignation in his voice had seeped into her, sadness spreading like mildew beneath her skin. Was hethatcertain it never would’ve worked between them? Did he remember those magical two weeks differently than she did?
“Time to get up,” Hugo whispered. To emphasize this point, Humphrey barreled in and jumped onto the bed.
“I’m up,” Marigold said hoarsely.
“Coffee’s ready. We should leave in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be out in a sec.” It wouldn’t take her long to get ready; she had nothing to pack, no outfits to choose from, no grooming to undertake besides brushing her teeth with the toothbrush Hugo had found for her. When Hugo left, trailed by Humphrey, she reached for her phone, willing herself to ignore the dozens of texts and missed calls that’d poured in once news of her absence had begun to spread.
But there was one text she couldn’t ignore. She reread the first line, and her heart stopped.Flight 2891 Delayed.
No. This couldn’t be happening. Not again.
