“She’s great,” Lola says quietly.
Our food comes quickly, and we both pick at it, pausing to say hello to a few people who come to the table.
When it’s just us again, I lean forward, elbows on the table, voice low. I can’t take my eyes off her for two seconds. “Jesus, Lola,” I finally say. “You in that dress.”
She laughs softly. “This old thing?”
“It’s criminal. Or Trouble.” I smile as my eyes drop to her tattoos, then back up.
We stare at each other until she finally inhales.
“What?” she asks quietly.
“Just thinking about you and me,” I admit, my voice dropping lower. “Feels like one wrong move, and everything might ignite.”
She traces the rim of her own glass with a fingertip, a slow, deliberate circle that I can’t look away from. “But what if there are no wrong moves on the island?” Her eyes meet mine again, dark and inviting.
I lean in just enough that our arms nearly brush. The scent of her wraps around me. “Then I’d fan the flames,” I murmur. “And savor the heat until it’s unbearable. Until it completely consumes us.”
A faint flush creeps up her neck, but she doesn’t back down. Instead, she lets out a soft laugh, the sound vibrating through me. “That sounds dangerous. But fun.”
The band starts a slow song, and after the first dance, couples drift to the small dance floor.
“We said we’d dance.” I stand, offering my hand. “But I haven’t forgotten about the fire.”
“I’d be disappointed if you had,” she says.
I don’t know what we’re doing, but I’m determined not to overthink it. I take her hand and lead her to the dance floor. When she turns to face me, I tug her body against mine. It feels right. Like she never left, and like we’ve been separatedfor a lifetime—I close my eyes and enjoy every place our bodies touch. Her skin is so soft.
We spin and laugh and drink more champagne. Everything blurs into heat and the intoxicating pull between us.
I let myself feel it all.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THIS IS WHAT I NEEDED
LOLA
We’re quiet as we walk to his cottage, and I wonder if he’s changing his mind, but then his hand finds mine in the dark, and our fingers thread together. When he opens the door, I take in the cottage.
“So pretty,” I whisper.
The air feels thicker in here. The faint trace of Tully’s cologne clings to my skin from dancing with him, and I want to be wrapped up in it. My heart is slamming so hard.
Our eyes catch, and I close the last inch, rise on my toes, and kiss him. Desperately, like I’ve been needing to for years. He groans in my mouth, his hands finding my waist, and he pulls me flush against him. My silky dress slides under his hands, and my body arches into his, remembering every contour and wanting to investigate the new. His fingers thread into my hair, tugging just hard enough to sting, and it’s like a match is struck.
We break apart, only because we need air. My forehead rests against his, our breaths ragged.
He backs me against the wall without a word, hands firm on my hips, and then his mouth is on my throat. I gasp when his teeth scrape that spot just below my ear, the one he always knew would make my knees buckle. It’s been five years, and he still remembers. My fingers fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, because if I don’t, I might fall apart.
“Tully—” His name comes out broken.
I hate how needy I sound, but I can’t help it. I’ve spent too long pretending I haven’t ached for this.
He lifts his head just enough to meet my eyes. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, but there’s something else there too—something raw and careful.
“Say it again,” he murmurs against my collarbone, already sliding the straps of my dress down my shoulders. The silk drifts to the floor in a whisper. “My name. Like you used to.”
