Julia
I gazedat him for several long, drawn-out seconds as my request hung in the air between us. Or was it more like a plea? A prayer? A desperate solicitation to wrap myself in his aura?
Not a word was spoken. Instead, he touched a hand to my face, fingers splaying in my hair. As he slowly curved toward me, warmth prickled my skin. Every inch of my body vibrated with a dangerous yearning to break all my rules. To throw caution to the wind. To lose myself in him.
Time stood still until his forehead rested against mine. It was a simple touch, yet incredibly intimate. Like the innocent meeting of our bodies created an impenetrable bubble around us.
“Now you release a small breath,” he directed, his voice barely audible.
I did as instructed, pushing out a tiny puff of air just as he exhaled. As we drank each other in, a shiver trickled down my spine, a fluttering erupting in my stomach. But it was so much more than that. It wasn’t simply nervous excitement, or even a carnal need that filled me. It was this sense of belonging. Of contentment. Of peace.
I expected him to pull back. He didn’t, though, keeping his firm hold on my face, locking me in place. Our breathing increased, the mood shifting from one of fulfillment to that of yearning.
A voice inside my head told me to retreat, to put as much space between us as possible. That this man, this young man, was the last thing I needed in my life.
That I was the last thing he needed in his life.
But I couldn’t fight the temptation to press my lips against his. To break free from the chains that had shackled me for years. To finally choose myself.
Heart pounding against my chest, I inched closer, on the brink of tasting what I’d fantasized about all night. But just before my mouth met his, he abruptly pulled back, severing the connection.
“Now you’re not a ha’ole anymore.” He nodded curtly, the disinterested, brooding version of him making a comeback.
I snapped out of the spell his touch cast over me, shaking off our interaction.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted, avoiding the remorse in his gaze. Or maybe it was pity. “I don’t…” I squeezed my eyes shut, then spun from him, my steps hurried as I continued up the beach.
When he caught up with ease, I silently cursed my luck.
“I guess you could say I suck at reading the room,” I rambled, my words coming quickly to cover my embarrassment. “I thought… Actually, I’m not sure what I thought. Probably that I’m in Hawaii and just turned forty, and here’s this hot guy, who is way too young for me, but hey, I’ve been drinking, so when in Rome, right? Wait.” I scrunched my nose, flicking my gaze toward him. “I’m not sure that phrase really applies. Or maybe it does. I don’t know. I just…”
I stopped walking suddenly, causing him to pause in his tracks, sand kicking up around him. Then I jutted out my hand, spine stiff, shoulders squared, exuding all the Southern charm I’d been taught since birth.
“Thank you for the wine. And the company. And helping me with my jellyfish problem. I hope you have a nice night. Or morning. Or whatever time it is.”
I forced a fabricated smile, silently urging him to shake my hand and not make this even more awkward than it already was. He stared at it for several protracted moments, contemplating. Analyzing. Deliberating.
On a long sigh, he finally placed his hand in mine. But when most normal handshakes would come to an end, ours didn’t. Instead, he tightened his hold, yanking my body against his.
I inhaled a sharp breath, disoriented and bewildered as he moved one hand to my lower back, his other dropping my hand and threading into my hair, cradling my head.
Then he crushed his lips to mine, his tongue coaxing them to part.
I stiffened, frozen, processing what the hell was going on.
“Kiss me,” he pleaded.
“Is this just a charity kiss?” I asked against his mouth. “Like, are you only kissing me because you feel bad? Because if you are—”
He edged back an inch and placed a finger against my lips, silencing me. “Let me kiss you and you’ll see how uncharitable this kiss will actually be. In fact, if I had to describe it, it would be the antithesis of a kiss for charity.”
He was back. The playful, lighthearted man I’d spent most of the evening with. Not the tortured man I first met. I liked him better this way. Otherwise, he was too unreadable. Too volatile.
“Is that right?” I smirked flirtatiously.
“That’s right.” He slowly inched toward me, the promise of his kiss teasing my insides.
This time, I was the one who pulled away, leaving him a tightly wound ball of need. At least I hoped it did, because that was what he did to me.