Page 30 of A Not-So Holiday Paradise

“I’m sorry,” I say, crying freely now and giving up on drying my eyes. “I’m sorry. I just thought I’d be back on the ship this evening.” I wrap my arms around my knees and bury my head, the tears coming fast and steady.

Thisis what’s been making me cry.

“How many pills do you take each day?” Beckett says. His voice is low, close, like he’s speaking directly into my ear.

I let go of my knees with one hand and hold up three fingers. Beckett swears softly, a puff of breath against my right temple, before falling silent.

It’s only a second or two later, though, that I feel his hand on my back.

“Come on, Baby O’Malley,” he says, his voice heavy, that hand trailing up and down my spine. “Let’s go to sleep. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“I’m not a child,” I spit out, because it’s just one more irritant piling onto my overburdened shoulders. I lift my head up and glare at him. “I’m a grown woman, Beckett Donovan.”

“I’m trying not to notice,” he says hoarsely—what isthatsupposed to mean?—and what little I can see of his face is closed off, a mask of neutrality. “Let’s sleep, all right? Are you warm?”

“No,” I sniffle, lying back down and closing my eyes so I don’t have to look at him. “I’m weirdly cold.”

I hear him sigh, hear him shift and adjust as he lies down too.

And then…one hand at the curve of my waist.

A tug that has me rolling onto my side, facing Beckett.

My eyes pop open in surprise just in time to catch the look on his face as he pulls my body into his: pained. Conflicted. Jaw clenched, eyes burning.

And then my front is pressed to his front, my head tucked under his chin, his arm draped over me. With that arm he grabs the tail end of the blanket on my other side and pulls it up until it covers me.

Warm. He’s so warm. And he’s holding me—honest-to-goodnessholding mein his arms, like we’re lovers.

We’re not lovers. Not even close. But maybe…

“This makes us friends, right?” I murmur sleepily into his chest.

He’s silent for so long that I think he really has fallen asleep this time. But then I hear him, so quiet I almost miss it.

“We don’t need to be friends, Molly,” he says, speaking into my hair. His voice is almost…regretful? “We just need to sleep.”

I disagree. I want to be his friend.

But I’m asleep before those words can make it out.

Ten

Beckett

HavingMolly O’Malley in my arms as the night stretches on is a strange kind of torture.Strangebecause I shouldn’t be feeling like this. My heart shouldn’t be pounding violently against my rib cage. My mind should not be cataloguing every single curve I feel. None of this should be happening.

I should be vaguely indifferent at best. This should affect me the same way as if I were cuddling with a Golden Retriever.

Yes. That’s it. From now on Molly will be relegated to Golden Retriever status.

Except…Molly has warm, softskin,not fur. There’s nothing remotely dog-like about the shape of her. And if she tilted her head up and licked my face…I have to admit, though only ever to myself and only this once, that I don’t even think I would be grossed out.

Thatis how attracted I am to this woman. She could swipe her tongue up my cheek and instead of pushing her away, I’d have to stop myself from kissing her. Add in the fact that her personality is magnetic, a ray of sunshine cutting through all the defenses I try to keep in place, and I’ve got a recipe for trouble.

“Golden Retriever,” I mutter under my breath. “Golden Retriever. Yellow fur and dog breath and about half her current IQ.” Because Golden Retrievers might be smart, but Molly is smarter.

I’m not sure if Molly hears me, but her body curls further into mine at my words, her head nuzzling my chest. I quickly adjust the blanket so she’s better covered. Then she shifts again, and I tilt my head away from her, my jaw clenched as I breathe deeply.

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