Page 25 of Beauty
He shrugs. “I think they went to dinner.”
“You think? You gave away your room, and in return, they ditched you?” I chuckle.
He shakes his head, his lips quirking in a hint of a smile. “I’m an idiot; I know.”
At the bar, I set down my empty drink.
In seconds, the bartender is in front of us. “Margarita?”
Once we’ve ordered two, I lean against the bar and face the man I can’t stop thinking about. In the sea of white clothing, he stands out in teal shorts and a black polo. Maybe he’d stand out anyway, with the way his shirt tugs against his muscles. The sight of him alone makes my mouth water.
I’m familiar with his body from snorkeling today. He’s clearly a man who takes care of himself, and I appreciate that.
What I appreciate more, though, are his loafers. They’re Italian leather and a sign that he’s far more mature than most men I know.
The contrast between his shoes and the damn sandals Tyler Warren was wearing makes me snort.
“What’s so funny?” Noah asks, dipping in a little closer, his face lit up with curiosity.
“My brother—” I shake my head. It’s stupid.
He arches a brow, expectant.
“He called me earlier,” I explain, “because he and his friend were going out, and that friend was wearing black slacks and sandals.”
Noah feigns an affronted scowl. “Terrible.”
“It is.” I press my hand against his chest, pushing him back. Or at least I mean to push him back. But once my palm is against his chest and I feel the way his heart is beating, I can’t pull away.
With his lip pressed between his teeth and his eyes locked on mine, he rests his own heavy hand over mine, holding it there.
The blue of his eyes seems to grow more vibrant as he shifts infinitely closer. For a moment I think he’s going to kiss me. My heart thuds wildly at his proximity, but when he leans over my shoulder, then steps back, holding a margarita between us, a small sigh of disappointment escapes me. When I don’t take the drink, he arches a brow and sips it himself. Then, with his focus locked on my face, he turns the glass and brings it to my lips, pressing my mouth to the spot where his was only seconds ago.
“Open,” he commands.
Holy fuck. That single word is enough to make me simultaneously combust and whimper.
He tips the glass, and my lips part to allow the smallest sip of liquid in. He eases it back again, his gaze trailing down my throat as I swallow.
I melt into a damn puddle under his scrutiny. My panties are so damp it’s embarrassing.
“Want to take our drinks to go?” The question is a low rumble from deep within his chest.
Surprised by the boldness, I nod woodenly and blink several times.
With the smallest of smiles, he hands me the fresh margarita, then settles the tab.
“I’m surprised you showed up,” I admit as we meander down the path toward the beach. This is the easiest way to my villa, though I’m not sure that’s our destination. I don’t want to be presumptuous, and with a little thought, I realize that I also don’t know that I’m ready to go back to my room with him anyway.
“I don’t want to want you,” he admits, his voice soft but his focus steady on my face. He meant for me to hear it, but he’s tempering his tone to dampen the harshness of the statement.
I lift my chin and study his face in the moonlight. “Why?”
He glances out at the now midnight blue waves, at the shimmering crests as they roll in. “My life is complicated.”
Affronted, a light scoff escapes me. “I’m not asking for a ring. Hell, I’m not really asking for anything. I was just flirting, enjoying myself. You don’t have to be here.”
He grasps my hand, stopping me, and faces me head-on. “That’s just it, though. I want to be.” He wets his lips, his gaze trailing over me with reverence. “I want more than to be here, honestly,” he rasps.
