Page 54 of One Week in Paradise
I don’t realise that I’m crying until a tear splashes against my phone screen.
Chapter Seventeen
There are a million and one things I want to say to Cash right now, but the only thing that comes out is, ‘You lookamazing.’
We’re about to head to The Blue Mahoe for our candlelit dinner on the beach. Cash grins at me and gives me a small twirl. He’s wearing an olive linen suit that complements his skin tone magnificently. His hair is free from the messy bun he’s pulled it in for most of the week, and it falls across his face in soft, luscious-looking waves.
He looks like he’s just stepped from the pages of a glossy magazine.
‘Then we match,’ he says kindly. ‘Because you look beautiful.’
‘Thank you.’ I’m wearing a fitted black dress with an open back. It hugs my curves in all the right places, and I take a tiny bit of pleasure in the glimpse of heat I see behind his eyes as he checks me out.
Maybe all isn’t lost.
‘Do you want to take a photo?’ I ask.
‘Sure.’ He reaches his hand out to take my phone, but I shake my head.
‘No, not ofme.’ I take a step towards him, ignoring the thudding sensation in my chest. ‘Together. Do you want to take a photo of us together?’
His eyes widen a fraction. We’ve taken plenty of photos together throughout the trip, but they’ve mostly been in front of the others. Part of the façade of our loving relationship. Cash suggested the photo we took at Jeanie’s Juices, but this is the first time I’ve asked for a photo when it’s just been the two of us.
I would give anything to be able to hear the marathon of thoughts currently racing through his mind as he stares at me. There’s a conflict raging behind his eyes, and I wonder which way he’s going to land.
I take another step forwards, making my intentions known.
We only have two days left in Jamaica, and I’m going to push for this.
I’m going to push for us.
‘Cash?’
‘Sure.’ His voice sounds like sandpaper. ‘How – How do you want me?’
On the bed, laid out in front of me, my thighs wrapped around your waist.
Instead, I say, ‘Over here is fine.’
I place my phone on the coffee table and set a timer on the camera app. I pull Cash towards the sliding doors, where the backdrop of the Jamaican sunset is casting our suite and the surroundings outside in an ethereal glow.
He slides an arm around my waist, and I press my hand against his chest. I can feel his heartbeat pumping against my palm.
‘It’ll take a few,’ I tell him.
He nods, and we pose as my phone fires off a rapid burst of photos. His hand squeezes my waist, and I look up at him. He’s looking down at me, that recognisable fire in his eyes.
He wants this. I know he does. Why is he depriving himself?
‘Bailey,’ he whispers, and why have I never noticed just how good my name sounds coming from him?
I tilt my head up, eyes fluttering shut.Go on, I silently urge.Do it. Kiss me.
He doesn’t.
The sound of my camera shutter stops abruptly, plunging us into silence.
He takes a step away from me, his hand dropping from my waist as he turns away. ‘We should go. Don’t want to be late for dinner.’
