Page 69 of Away With You
He smiles, tugging on the hand still in his and guiding me down to the bottom level of the yacht. There, he unbuttons his shirt and shucks it off in a way that shouldn’t be sexy but really, really is.
“Here.” He hands me a tube of sunscreen. “Can you do my back?”
My greedy hands jump at the chance to touch him, and I nod. Stepping in behind him, I let out a shuddering sigh as my hands slowly, slowly apply the lotion to his back. His muscles ripple beneath my fingers as I cover every inch of his skin, my hands lingering on the dips of his waist, the ridges on his shoulders.This back? It’s a masterpiece.
“Are you done torturing me?” Nathan’s voice is low, tight-sounding and the hairs on my arms stand to attention at the sound of it.
I force my hands down. “Yes.” My voice trembles.
“My turn now,” he growls.
Gulping, I pull my cover-up up and over my head, too worked up to feel self-conscious standing in front of this man wearing…almost nothing. His eyes darken, a muscle jumping in his cheek as he stares at me. His gaze is heated as it moves over me, flaring at the small ties on my shoulders and hips, holding all the pieces of fabric together.
“Turn around,” he orders. I swallow hard and comply. Standing statue-like still, I wait for him to start, quivering with anticipation. After several minutes, I turn to find out what the hold-up is. My skin is crying for him to touch me.
“I need a minute,” he whispers.
I turn back around, the expression on his face almost too much to bear. He looks like a man in pain.
With a shuddering exhale, I shut my eyes to block out the image of dilated pupils and clenched fists and focus instead on breathing. Something that should happen automatically, but suddenly seems like a task I need to work on.
“Right,” he mutters behind me, and then his hands are on me. He starts by sliding my ponytail over my shoulder, his finger lightly caressing the skin at the nape of my neck as he goes. I suppress a shudder. Next, he smooths the lotion up and along the back of my arms, pausing at the bows of my bikini, holding the whole thing up on my shoulders.
I can’t suppress the next shudder.
His breath is hot against my skin as his hands trail from the nape of my neck and inch down the length of my back, pausing once again to toy with the strings of my bikini. They then dip to my waist, his big hands spanning almost all the way around,before returning to smooth out over my hips. And then, just when I think I can’t take any more, he retraces his movements, starting from my hips and working his way up again.
My heart thumps as his hands return and linger, warm and steady on my hips, his lips pressing the softest kiss between my shoulder blades.
Wow. Just wow.
“I think we both need a swim after that, don’t you?” Nathan grumbles in my ear.
I turn in his arms, my eyes moving over his face. His mouth is a thin line, his jaw is tight, and his nostrils are flared. The hands holding my hips tighten as I stand and stare at him. “Nathan—”
“Hey, you two. Are you coming in or what?”
Rosie. The wonderful interrupter I didn’t know I needed. Because what I was going to say next wasn’t appropriate for a couple of fake-daters. I was about to admit something very real.
I step back, my hips missing Nathan’s hands as they drop to his side.
“Coming!”
Stepping away from the heat of Nathan’s body, I launch myself into the warm Caribbean Sea, wishing it were colder. Cold enough to douse the flame Nathan’s hands just ignited in me. Once fully submerged, I return to the surface just in time to see his hard, muscled body moving towards mine, and I know that even an ocean of icy cold water wouldn’t be enough to drown out this attraction I’m feeling towards this man.
And given this is all pretend and ends in a week, that could be a very big problem.
?·?·?
The next morning, I wake up alone again. Still on my side of the bed.
“Humph,” I mutter, pushing my curtain of hair out of my eyes and taking stock of the situation. It’s early, the sun barelypeeking up over the horizon, the sky a delightful shade of light lemon and pale orange colours. The air in the room is warm, moving around lazily by the giant ceiling fan above me, and the sounds of the ocean right outside our door are like a distant lullaby. The setting is perfect. Except for one thing.
I’m alone.
“Stupid romance novels setting up stupid unrealistic expectations,” I grumble while swinging my legs out of bed and standing up.
It’s not like I thought anything would happen between me and Nathan last night, but after that kiss and the sexiest sunscreen application in history, I expected my subconscious to at least attempt a midnight cuddle with the man sharing my bed. It’s what the only-one-bed trope suggests should happen: two people forced to share one bed, and inevitably throughout the night, one migrates over to the other. All very innocent, all done under the guise of ‘sleep,’ but all very much leading to one (me) being in the arms of the other (Nathan) come morning.
