Page 57 of Smooth Sailing
“But do you want her to? Tell me honestly.”
He sighed. “No. I’ve already put so much on her.”
“Then go home as we planned. And I’ll meet you there.”
That tightening in his chest, which he couldn’t quite explain, squeezed him tighter. He wanted to argue, to insist on staying, but the rational part of his brain knew she was right. Still, the thought of leaving her behind twisted something inside him.
“I don’t like it,” he said, his voice low. “The idea of going back without you . . . it doesn’t sit right.”
She looked at him, her expression impossible to read. “I don’t like it either, but it’s the sensible thing to do.”
He set his drink aside and pulled her into his embrace. “Sensible sucks.”
She laughed. “I agree.” Their gazes met, and that familiar tug pulled at him—the one growing stronger each day.
Another shrill ring cut between them. This time his damn phone rang. It was after ten. Don’t people sleep? Grace’s name flashed on the screen, a reminder of the real world waiting for them beyond this room.
He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Paloma was already reaching for her laptop, the professional mask slipping back into place. “You should get that,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze. “I need to start replanning anyway.”
He nodded, unable to shake the feeling that something pivotal had just slipped through his fingers. The bubble had burst, and reality was rushing in, bringing with it questions he wasn’t ready to ask—or maybe wasn’t ready to hear the answers to.
Chapter Twenty-Six
November 2nd, 3:30 p.m.
Max pulled into his driveway, easing his Harley beside Drake’s Mercedes. It seemed his brother was back in town for the week. Max hit the kill switch, and the engine’s rumble ceased, fading to a soft tick as it cooled. A twinge of melancholy struck him; this would probably be his last ride of the season. He’d gotten lucky with how long the fall weather held, but Old Man Winter was hiding around the corner.
The sound of a car pulling behind him banished thoughts of his bike and the impending winter. He removed the key and whipped off his helmet, his pulse quickening as he turned to see Paloma stepping out of her vehicle. The changes at the Sterling house had taken longer than expected, and it had been two weeks since he’d seen her in person.
With his overflowing work schedule, they’d rarely talked. His crew could only do so much, and there were a few projects he’d put off while in Traverse City that demanded his attention before the winter weather set in, leaving little time for anything else. Their brief text exchanges and hurried phone calls had only intensified his longing to see her again.
But she was back, and the rest of the day was theirs.
Paloma approached. The autumn breeze tousled her dark hair, and the fading sunlight brought out the vivid blue of her eyes, like a clear winter sky. Her fitted jacket and jeans accentuated her curves, reminding him of all he’d been missing these weeks.
The familiar comfort of her presence collided with a new, electric uncertainty. His fingers twitched, caught between the urge to reach for her and the sudden fear that his touch might not be welcome.
“Hey,” Paloma said softly, stopping a few feet away. She fidgeted with the strap of her bag, betraying a nervousness that matched his.
“Hey yourself,” he replied, aiming for casual, but his wide grin probably gave him away. “It’s good to see you.”
Her lips curved into a small smile, but her blue eyes held a question. “You too. It’s been a while.”
“Too long. I’ve missed you,” he ventured.
Was that relief he saw in her eyes? Her gaze drifted from him to the motorcycle and the helmet dangling from his gloved hand. Her smile widened.
“Riding the bike today, huh?” she said, her voice low and sultry as she stepped closer. Her fingers trailed along the curve of the fuel tank. “You know what that does to me.”
“Do I? I’ve forgotten. Why don’t you show me?” he challenged.
Drawn closer to Paloma, heat coursed through his body. The small space between them crackled with electric desire, making the hair on his neck stand up. She pressed against him, and his breath hitched. Her warmth seeped through his clothes. His arms encircled her waist, pulling her closer. He reveled in the feel of her body against his. All the uncertainty of the past weeks melted away.
He removed his riding gloves and tossed them on his motorcycle. His thumbs brushed her cheekbones, and he cupped her face in his hands before crashing his lips against hers. The kiss was hungry and desperate; weeks of longing poured into a single, scorching moment.
She matched his hunger, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. She arched into him, erasing any remaining space between their bodies. Max groaned softly against her mouth, one hand sliding down to her hip, gripping tightly.
They broke apart, panting. Her pretty lips were swollen, and her pupils were dilated. He rested his forehead against hers, unwilling to pull away completely.
