Chapter Eight
Takira
I glance up to see who is coming down the hall as I open the door to my cabin.
“Naz!” I practically screech, pressing both hands to my chest like I’m guarding my heart. Maybe I am because that traitorous organ started a riot behind my rib cage as soon as Naz strode into view. I clutch the doorknob, searching for something to anchor me. So much for my plan to play it cool and indifferent, but I thought I wouldn’t see him until dinner. He’s here before I’ve even made it inside my cabin, leaving me no time to prepare. To marshal my defenses against this man.
But there is no defense for fine as fuck, not when it comes swaggering up the hall looking like a whole-ass snack.
“Takira,” Naz says, his deep voice pouring over me like hot oil, raising my goose bumps and then singeing them. “I didn’t know you were here already. I’m glad you came.”
He looks down at me from his great height, nearly a foot above. The breadth of his shoulders blocks out everything behind him, and he’s literally the only thing I can see. His scent—clean and woodsy and masculine and uniquely him—floods my senses, my nostrils flaring as I breathe him in. Everything about this man screams dominance and confidence, but when his dark eyes latch on to mine, I read a line of uncertainty. We haven’t spoken since the after-party, though his wishes, his very clear intentions, are what brought me here.
“This is a pretty elaborate scheme to see me again.” I gesture to a porthole in the narrow passageway that flaunts a view of the jewel-like sea. “You could have just asked me out.”
“Pretty sure I did and you turned me down.”
“And you always get what you want?”
“Usually, yes.” A rakish grin crooks one side of his sinfully full lips. “And based on that kiss at Lotus’s party, seems like you want me back.”
Touché, my brother.
“Well, now that you have me here,” I say, allowing a hint of challenge to enter my voice, “do you even know what you want to do with me?”
My words, the taunt erases any tinge of doubt in his stare, and he invades my space, crowding me against the half-open door. Does he realize I lured him this close? That he’s exactly where I want him? I’ve been around athletes, directors, actors, musicians, powerful men a lot. Men who like to chase and catch. Big, intimidating, commanding—Naz is no different, yet he’s like no man I’ve been with before. He’s not even like the Naz I knew before.
“I know exactly what I want to do with you.” He closes in until his scent and heat curl around me. “You should be asking yourself if you can take it.”
My mind and my eyes drift inevitably to the it in question, the lengthened steel between his legs, an obvious erection within seconds of being in my presence. A dirty reply waits on my tongue, but when I look back up at him, my breath stalls at his expression. Yes, a devouring hunger roils behind his eyes, and his huge hands curl into fists at his sides like he’s two seconds from snatching me up, bending me over the nearest rail, and fucking me senseless. That’s all expected, but there’s something else. Something tender that I’m not sure what to do with. It has no place in a two-week fling, which is all this can be.
I stare up at him, blinking in both confusion and understanding. I’m a romantic at heart. I wouldn’t keep trying every dating app known to man if I didn’t believe in love—didn’t believe there was someone out there for everyone. But even I, horny, heart-y romantic that I am, never imagined a man orchestrating a situation like this just to see me again. And the longer we stand here staring at each other, saying so much without words, the higher the stakes of this thing seem to climb.
“I want to be very clear,” I tell him, holding the heated stare that hasn’t left my face. “I’m only here for…”
I should say I’m here for the food, the good times, the free trip through the Mediterranean, and to make new famous friends. Hell, I could even say I’m only here for the dick. I could say all of that, but it’s not true. At least, it’s not the whole truth. I don’t completely understand the magnetic pull that sprang up between us when we met all those years ago—don’t fully grasp how it endured. I do know it’s stronger than anything I’ve felt with anyone else. It’s sharp and deep and quick, like a knife tossed to the bottom of a barrel.It’s real, and in a sea of catfish profiles, dead-end dates, and unsolicited dick pics…something real feels like a miracle.
“You were saying you’re here for…?” He takes another step forward, urging me farther back. I don’t speak but bite my lip and glance down at the floor between us. I’ve always got something to say, am ready with a comeback, but there are no words for the way he’s invaded my thoughts since the fashion show. All the dreams, fantasies this man has spurred are secrets, and I can’t bring myself to say any of them out loud.
“How about if I tell you why I brought you here?” he asks, taking another step that backs me over the threshold and into my cabin.
“That’s a good idea,” I whisper, never breaking our stare. “Tell me.”
“Because,” he says, kicking the door closed. His wide, warm palm cups my face, and his long fingers brush the nape of my neck. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“You mean since the fashion show?”
He bends until our foreheads touch, his insanely long lashes flicking up to show me the full measure of heat in his eyes. “Longer.”
He tips my chin back with his thumb and lowers his head, hovering over my lips. “I’m glad you came.”
Some invisible thread pulls me up on my toes, straining to close the tiny bit of space left between our lips. Mere millimeters from his mouth, I say, “So am I.”
He grips my nape and slams our lips together. This is no uncertain kiss or tentative touch. Naz plunges his tongue into my mouth, licking at me with possessive sweeps, sliding his hands over my shoulders and molding my back with his palms. His hands pause at the cinch of my waist, at the swell of my hips.
“I want to touch your ass,” he says, his voice low and hoarse against my lips.
Breathless at his words, at the thought, I laugh. “Do you always ask first?”