Page 36 of Out of the Gold

Her hazel eyes lock on mine. “Maybe they’ll think they have the wrong guy.” Her hand slides up, rasping against my stubble.

Everything in my body seizes. This glorious woman is trying to protect me from the paparazzi with her own body. Without command, my hands land around her waist, pulling her closer. “Now what?”

“Your hat’s brim should cover us.” Her warm breath tickles my lips.

I nod, and the bill taps her on her forehead. Behind us, the paparazzi scream my name. “Chase! Chase Wright, is that you?”

The ferry’s horn blasts.

I don’t react to either noise. Instead, my eyes drop to Melody’s lips. Lush. I incline my head toward hers.

Her head tips upward. “Charles,” she purrs.

In a husky murmur, I reply, “Yes.”

“Chase!” The reporters shout from behind us. Gaining on us.

With strength I didn’t know I possessed, I lock eyes with Melody. Clasping her hand, I order, “Run!”

We bolt toward the ferry, zigging and zagging around people. The ferry docks as we catapult near the front of the line, still being chased by a hearty group of reporters. Panting, I give them my back and wrap Melody in my arms, as the other passengers effectively cock block the reporters. “We made it.”

Pressed together, I feel her body as it shudders for breath. I want to tip her head up and kiss her. I want to slow her breath with mine, then increase it with passion. But I do neither. I let the salty air sting my lungs, all the while savoring her limbs wrapped around me. I press her head to my chest while my breathing evens out.

The ferry docks and we make our way onto the boat. Other passengers look in our direction, but I keep my head down and direct Melody to an empty side row. With my body facing away from the dock and the paparazzi, I sit. Expending some of my nervous energy, I bend down and stow her bag of purchases under my seat.

Melody stands above me, still trying to obscure my identity. “I think we lost them. I don’t see them on board.”

“I hope not,” I reply. Her fingers worry her dress, so I capture them and tug her down into her seat. Her startled features meet mine. “Thank you.” My voice sounds raspy.

An impish smirk overtakes her face. “Plenty of practice with my dad.”

I didn’t anticipate her response, although I should have. “I bet.”

“Actually, it’s kinda fun so long as it doesn’t happen too often.”

I rub my neck as the ferry’s horn sounds and we leave Positano—without pesky reporters. “I think we’re safe.” I hope they didn’t tip off their friends in Amalfi. “For now,” I add.

Her smile gleams at me. Beckons. Whispers secret promises.

Was our almost kiss back there a ruse for the reporters, or something more? My whole body begs to know the answer.

Instead of asking the question, I swallow and bring my face toward hers. Her smile disappears, and her breathing accelerates, although not from exertion this time. A slight blush stains her cheekbones. And I have my answer.

It wasn’t for the reporters.

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