Page 108 of Even Exchange

“Wow,” he says, green eyes dragging along my body, lighting a fire trail. “You look…” He rakes a hand over his face. “Wow.”

I sway on my heels. My very high, uncomfortable, totally worth it heels. “You look pretty ‘wow’ yourself.”

He gestures an arm for me to come inside our hotel room, which is also… wow. There’s a long teal couch, a small kitchenette, a cozy king-sized bed I’d love to dive into, and a gorgeous view of the Bay. The gala is for the conservation of Tampa Bay’s aquatic life, so I suppose they decided a hotel by it would be appropriate. The sun is setting, and the orange light dances across the water, the colors blending as if they were always meant to meet.

My attention returns to Noah, and I wonder if all the theories of kismet and invisible strings are true. Is it possible that maybe, just maybe, everything in my life has brought me here, to him?

Noah stands before a gold-framed, floor-length mirror, adjusting his bow tie.

“First time?” I ask, desperate for a distraction from the overthinking.

His eyes slide to mine in a glare. “No.” He continues fiddling in the mirror before blowing a breath of defeat. “I just can’t get it to be symmetrical. Every time it’s a little lopsided.”

Noting the slight shaking of his fingers, I walk over, resting a hand on them. They still instantly.

“Allow me?” I ask.

“You know how?”

“I always watched my dad put one on before events,” I say with a smile, chest aching.I should call him.“He taught me how once I was older. Said it was an important life skill.”I’m definitely grateful for the lesson now.

“Can’t be worse than I’m doing.” He removes his hands and sits on the arm of the couch, bringing us eye to eye.

“Raging endorsement,” I tease, sliding between his legs, untying his lopsided bow and pulling the sides evenly. My eyes fall to his pulse, the memory of his skin under my lips imprinted in my memory.

Noah taps his fingers against his thighs.Is he itching to touch me like I am to touch him?My gaze wanders back to his, and I grip the bow tie strings, tugging him forward until our lips are inches apart.

“You are breathtakingly beautiful,” he says against my lips.

“I would hope so. This dress is clearly couture.”

“Not the dress.” He places a hand on my hip, gaze locked on mine. “You.”

A blush creeps up my cheeks. With one word, he’s vanquished every negative self-sabotaging thought. My eyes fall to the bow tie, opting to focus on the task at hand. My fingers work on the silk material, and in a few quick moves, I’m done. “There. All better.”

He places a hand on mine. “Thank you.”

“It’s just a bow tie.”

“How ever will I repay you for ensuring I don’t look entirely out of place?”

His musky cologne overtakes my senses. Making me weak. Making me brave. “I could think of a few things.”

His fingertips find my thigh, trailing upwards and nudging the material with it. “You have fun choosing what to wear under this dress?”

“I decided it was better to go with nothing.”

His fingers pause. “Soffione.” He grips my thigh tight, and my center throbs, aching for him.

His warm, raspy voice echoes in my mind.‘Be confident, Charlotte.’

I hook my hands around his neck and tug him towards me, our lips inches apart. “How did you sleep last night without me?” I ask. It was the first we’d been apart since the bonfire, and after tossing and turning in my cabin, I took his offer of sleeping at his place. Once I was wrapped in his sheets, his scent surrounding me—basil, cedarwood, home—I drifted right to dreamland.

“Terrible.”

“Did you have a nightmare?” I ask, chest heavy with concern, and he shakes his head. Relief floods me. “Good.”

“How didyousleep?”

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