Page 42 of Second Tide's the Charm
That’s it. The last sandbag rips and the dam breaks, destroying good intentions and washing caution out to sea. Her lips are on mine and mine are on hers and we’re kissing again after three long years of heartache.
Her mouth is sweet and soft, exactly how I remember her, but better, because this isn’t a memory. Lips pressed to mine, she steps closer, and I tug my hands out of my pockets and grab her waist to steady her, or maybe myself. She lets out a soft moan against my mouth, and I tug her against me in earnest, swallowing the sound. Her hips rocket up against me and a groan rips from my own throat, stoked by Hope’s hungry kisses.
My brain short-circuits and senses take over—warmth, heat, pulsing need—and then she parts her lips and slides her tongue against mine and I’m a man consumed. My free hand skims under her top, sliding along her ribs, my touch firm, the way she loves, and I’m rewarded by a quick suck of my tongue that sends a bolt of desire rocketing through me. She pulls back for a breath, and I heave in a desperate inhale at the disheveled sight of her, windblown and gorgeous in the pink light of dawn.
How have I lived without this? Without her? I slip my fingers into the tumble of curls above her nape and take charge, my lips not ready to be parted from hers, not now, not ever. Inconvenient to want this much, but the fulfillment is sweeter than anything imaginable.
Touching her, holding her...the wet surrender of her hot mouth under mine is a rush of pleasure I never thought I’d feel again, and all the sweeter for it. Her desire seems to match mine, lips parted as she lets me in, our tongues sweeping against each other, coaxing another breathless moan from her that makes my knees almost give way.
She breaks away to press a kiss to the underside of my jaw, mouth warm against the sensitive skin at the edge of my beard, and my throat bobs in a hard swallow. I skim my hands down her hips and pull her against me. She rocks up on her toes, threading her arms around my shoulders, meeting me halfway, and our lips connect again in a deep kiss.
Nearby voices startle us apart. Hope’s eyes are wide. A dart of panic shoots through me, more at the implications of the line we’ve crossed than worries over being seen. My senses are buzzing, and it takes a moment to orient myself. The conversation is coming from the parking lot behind the dune.
Hope’s hands are shaky as she swipes at her lips, like she’s trying to erase the sensation. “I’m gonna go check in with whoever’s in charge.” She motions to the first of the volunteers making their way onto the beach, and I nod, dazed.
“I’ll uh, make sure to email you that handbook.” My pulse hammers, reality dawning like the sun. Whether the experiment was a success or not remains to be seen, but one conclusion is certain: we just went and made our working relationship a whole lot more complicated.
eighteen
hope
Phone in hand, I walk to the end of the pier, debating whether to call or text. I need advice, but how do I tell Zuri I kissed the man I’m supposed to be on my way to getting over?
Days later, and I’m still reeling from the effects of that earth-shattering kiss. I’ve dreamt about our kisses often enough in the past few years, but I discovered immediately that memories can’t touch reality. Adrian’s mouth on mine was a reminder of every ounce of tenderness, every ounce of support, of unexpected wonder, that I found in our relationship before.
Everything I’m supposed to be figuring out how to live without.
At first, I tried to rationalize that it was just a test. Kiss him, feel nothing, be free to move on.
But I can’t lie to myself. The kiss wasn’t a test. It was me giving in to the longing I’ve bottled up for three years. Rather than slaking my desire, it made me crave him more than ever. And now that I know he wants me—on some level, at least—I’m further than ever from overcoming my feelings. Trouble is, nothing’s truly changed. We wanted each other before and the wanting wasn’t enough to keep us together.
Tomorrow we’re headed out with the scientists from Charleston, and I haven’t seen or spoken to Adrian since our kiss. I can’t very well talk to Marissa about it—just the idea of her finding out has had me on edge since the turtle patrol shift.
But Zuri will help me find a way to move forward and work with Adrian. Feet planted on the wooden decking, looking out over the endless waves from the height of hovering seagulls, I gather my courage and press the call button.
Instead of hello, Zuri answers with, “I saw the video and you two did so good! You had that cheesy science show banter down. No one would know you’re exes.”
“Thanks, I think?” She’s never been a big fan of documentaries but has humored me by watching untold hours of them and, in return, I’ve sat through all the superhero movies she loves.
“But I’m not calling about that.” If I get sidetracked, I’ll lose my nerve. “I did something reckless.”
“You kissed that man,” Zuri says without missing a beat.
My free hand grips the pier railing so hard that splinters bite into my palm. “How did you know?”
“Because you’ve been sending me updates since you arrived, and the past few days, nothing. I knew you were guilty about something.”
“I’m not guilty.” I am tied up in knots, though. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I agree, but I know you, Hope. You’re feeling guilty because you didn’t live up to your own expectations.”
I hear chatter in the background and ask, “Sorry, are you at work?”
“Stockroom,” she confirms. “Your call is a good distraction.”
“Glad someone’s happy about my situation.”
“You’re not?”
