Page 41 of The Best Wrong Move

He continues, “I think some people have everything they need at home, so they never leave. Other people have to move away from home to find whatever it is that they couldn’t get there. You came here to find something. To do something brave and new. I came here to leave.”

His confession catches me by surprise and I stare at him, trying to piece him together.

“Leave what?” I ask.

“Who I was back home. What I was connected to. The way people saw me.”

“I can’t imagine you being anything but who you are. You seem to be completely comfortable in your own skin.”

“Here, yes. But, back home, I’m different too. I get it. It’s hard to change who you arenow, when everyone just wants to see you for who youwere.”

“You haven’t seen me back home in New York.” I pick up a new handful of sand and drain it through my fingers. “Something about this place pulls a new side out of me, I think. I just feel different here.”

“Or, maybe, you’re just differentthere,” he says. “Back in New York.”

Dom gently takes my hand in his, flecks of rough sand pressing between our skin. Then he dusts off his palm so it’s softer against mine. He squeezes, leaving his hand there, like he’s forgotten to pull it away.

I flick my eyes to his, then to the balcony behind us.

He smiles, still not pulling his hand away, while a firm understanding washes over his face. He looks back up at the lanai, then squeezes my hand tighter, so I couldn’t let go, even if I wanted to.

“I’m not letting you go, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he adds. “Unless—”

“No, I don’t want you to,” I interrupt, before his thought can even be completed. I want to add,and not just because they’re watching, but I can’t make the words come out. The sting of Rex’s humiliating rejection still hurts to my core. I’m not ready for another blow so soon if Dom is simply brilliant at acting the part.

He inches closer to me on the sand, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. Then I rest my head against his chest. His skin is heated, like the last rays of the sun, and I snuggle in closer, enjoying the feeling of his body against mine, even if it’s all for show.

“I don’t know what this place does to me,” I tell him. “But whatever it is, I like it.”

“Maybe you’ve always had it in you. But all this?” He waves his free hand toward the rose-colored sky. “Maybe all this just helps you remember who you are. Who you’ve always been. And something along the way — maybe that guy up there — just made you forget.”

Then he slowly leans over and plants a gentle kiss right on my lips. It’s sweet at first, but grows in urgency, like we’re the only two people for miles around.

When he pulls back, his brows are furrowed, like he can’t decide if that was the right move or not. Then he whispers into my lips.

“Is this okay?”

Everything in me screams for more, much more than we can do on the beach.

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him back in, answering with another kiss of my own.

His kisses grow harder, both of us acting like we can’t bear to stop, until we’re both lying back against the sand, the crook of his elbow cradling my head like a pillow.

All I can hear is the gentle lapping of the waves. They’re breaking coolly across our toes as he holds my face in his hand, gently tasting and tugging at my lips with his, each kiss lasting a bit longer than the last.

My body aches for him to touch me in places I know he can’t, carry me behind closed doors if he must. He pauses and shoots his eyes up toward the balcony once more. I arch my back to follow his gaze, heart sinking, remembering the only reason we’re here.

The sun is nearly gone now, just a pat of butter drizzled on the horizon.

“They’re gone,” he whispers, still frozen above me. His hand is still wrapped around my hip, his thumb gently grazing the sensitive patch of bare skin just above my waistline.

I stare into his eyes — he hovers over me.

Both of us breathe heavily.

My mind is completely blank other than the feeling of him, hard and strong against me.

The last thing I want to do is stop.

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