Page 44 of Whisked Away
As night falls, I reluctantly stand, not quite ready for the evening to end. Ethan turns toward the twinkling lights of Magnolia Cove, the beacon calling us back. Then he looks up at the moon. It’s nearly full, only a small sliver missing. He hasn’t released my hand, and I can’t will myself to move away from him. When he looks back down at me, there’s such a serious expression on his face, it causes my stomach to swoop.
“I have a cottage close to here,” he says, his voice dancing with the wind.
My breath catches in my throat. I wait for him to continue wherever he’s going with this, but he only stares at me in such an intense way that it’s like I’ve stumbled into the woods and got caught in a stare-down with a predator. I shiver, but finally sputter out, “I’m sure it’s lovely.”
“Would you like to see it?” It’s like he’s fighting himself over saying the words. Like he knows he shouldn’t. He must not be much of a one-night-stand kind of guy.
The waves roar behind us, and tension swirls in the limited space between our bodies. I want to close that gap, taste his lips again. I’ve let work relationships become less professional before—Tish became my best friend after I wrote an article about her. But never this unprofessional.
I should find a way to graciously say no. Make it about me and not him. But staring up into the depths of his eyes as the breeze tangles my hair forward so it brushes his skin, I can’t.
“I would like that,” I whisper.
Ethan’s shoulders drop with a breath. He reaches out and cups my cheek with his hand, then leans in and kisses me quick and soft. It’s over before it begins, and I’m left breathless, wanting more as I follow him up the beach, then toward a path.
When we turn a corner, hundreds of beach cottages appear, dotting the shore like shells. These are clearly residential homes and not vacation rentals. The aged wood and personalized touches speak of permanent homes.
“I didn’t know this neighborhood was here,” I say.
Ethan’s hand tightens on mine. “This is where most of the long-term residents in Magnolia Cove live. Zoe and Mia’s cottage is just over there, and Rachel has a place just down the lane. It’s a little community within the community.” He nods ahead of us. “This one’s mine.”
It’s a navy cottage with worn ivory shutters on the far side of the beach, like it’s meant to stand alone. A pair of rocking chairs sit on the porch facing a table with a chessboard set up for a game.
Ethan walks up and opens the door—no locks once again—then clicks on a lamp so it glows over the interior as I step inside. He shuts the door while I take it all in.
A leather couch faces a small fireplace, a handmade quilt draped over its back. Bookshelves line one wall, crammed with cookbooks and hundreds of novels. Bookmarks and what appears to be notated papers stick out of dozens of them.
The kitchen juts off the living area as if it’s an afterthought, the space small. Despite that, I feel like a moth drawn to it. Copper pots hang from a rack, and a sourdough starter (name-free) sits on a counter next to a bowl of fresh tomatoes—the same varieties I’d seen at his father’s farmer’s market stall.
A small hallway leads off, presumably to the bathroom and a couple of bedrooms. My stomach clenches.
Ethan clears his throat. He’s standing awkwardly by the door, hands shoved into his pockets. “So, um, this is home sweet home.”
“I love it,” I say, and I mean it.
He walks over to me. I stare up at him, at this man who has captivated me in such a short time. His eyes search mine, and there’s a vulnerability about him, standing here surrounded by his treasures.
“Alex,” he says softly, “I know you’re leaving soon, and I don’t want to complicate things, but…” He reaches up and slides hair behind my ear. My skin prickles, and heat builds in my body. Things are already complicated. I’m already spending half my days daydreaming about forever, and if I can’t have that, I at least want tonight.
I push up on my tiptoes and kiss him. What begins as agentle parting of lips turns urgent. My arms wrap around his neck, and I pull him closer to me, tracing my fingers into his curls. His body tucks around mine, every firm inch of muscle I’ve admired as he kneaded dough and lifted heavy sacks of flour pressing against me. His hands glide down my back, grip my hips, and pull me flush against him.
A moan escapes my lips as Ethan’s mouth trails down my neck, his stubble grazing my sensitive skin. My fingers fumble to undo the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel more. He pulls back, his eyes searching mine. “Are you sure?”
His voice is rough, and it makes my heart race. I capture his lips and pour every drop of longing I’ve felt in the past weeks into it. “I’m sure,” I breathe against his mouth.
Ethan curls his hands around my hips, then lifts me effortlessly. I squeal in surprise but wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me down the hall into the dark bedroom. Only the moon’s light spills over the quilt-covered bed, and I exhale slowly as he places me on it.
He stares at me, brushes hair behind my shoulder, then lets his fingers trace down my arm. I shiver at the touch, at the change in intensity.
Ethan stands over me, his silhouette bathed in moonlight, rising and falling with his heavy breaths. He reaches out and traces his thumb along my collarbone, his eyes never leaving mine. Our ragged breaths mingle with the waves crashing in the distance.
Slowly, as if savoring the moment, Ethan kneels before me. His hands glide down to my hips, then slide back up to my waist, pausing as though he’s giving me every chance to stop him. The weight of his gaze feels like a promise, and I arch toward him, craving more.
His fingers deftly pull my shirt off. The air kisses me with a cool breath. Ethan groans, then trails his hands over my newly exposed skin.
I close my eyes and imagine those hands kneading dough and piping frosting. Their finesse and gentleness. I want him to touch me everywhere. I gasp when his lips follow the path his hands have trailed, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along my collarbone.
I reach for him and pull his shirt off his shoulders, revealing the hard planes of his chest, muscles flexing as he moves. His body is warm and solid, grounding me as his hands roam, teasing slowly, fingers slipping under remaining fabric.
