At this point, I’m not surprised if he does.
The night is warm, but the breeze coming in from the ocean has more than a little freshness to it. Goose bumps rise across the bare skin of my arms.
Anthony notices. He reaches into a woven basket behind the patio door, pulling out a bundled blanket. “The decorator put them here for this very purpose.”
“Thanks.” I sweep it around my shoulders. “I suppose we have an early morning tomorrow, then. Windsurfing and all.”
“You don’t strike me as someone who usually sleeps in, regardless.”
I shake my head. “Not usually, no.”
He sighs and rises to his feet. I follow suit, running a hand through my hair. It’s dried in a mess of disobedient curls, impossible to tame.
He reaches out, catching a blonde lock between two fingers. “Summer,” he says.
“Yes?”
“Sing in the shower every day you’re here.”
My hands curl around the edge of the blanket and I sway on my feet. Reach up on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his lips.
He doesn’t respond.
I fall back on my feet and take a step toward the open patio door. Embarrassment makes my cheeks burn. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… sorry.”
He catches my wrist and tugs me against him, tipping my head back and slanting his mouth over mine.
Anthony doesn’t kiss me like it’s our first time.
He kisses me like he already knows how I taste and is addicted to it. Like I might disappear at any moment.
It takes my breath away.
The blanket slips through my fingers as I reach out and steady myself against him. His shoulders are firm beneath my grip, a steady pillar amidst the roil of sensations inside.
His hand weaves into my hair and gives the softest of tugs. He’s everywhere and I never want him to leave. Never want this kiss to end. I slide my hands up the skin of his neck and find purchase in the thick, dark hair. It’s sleek through my fingers, a softness I hadn’t expected.
He kisses me once, twice. Slow and soft before he lifts his head. My breath is coming hard and fast, and his isn’t much better. Dark, wondering eyes gaze back at me. His thumb smoothes over my hip in the smallest of caresses before he releases me.
Takes a step back, chest rising as he gets himself under control. “Goodnight, Summer,” he murmurs.
I run a finger over my lips. “Goodnight, Anthony.”
15
Anthony
Summer has been knocked down by the waves more times than I can count. Sitting on a lounge chair on the half-empty beach, I have a front-row seat. Even if I should be focusing on the emails in front of me instead of the brave girl out at sea.
It’s difficult, as it always is these days, when the latter draws my gaze so easily.
She’d been bang on the money yesterday when she’d marveled at the house and the money I’d dropped on it. It had been outrageously expensive.
Even more expensive if one factors in just how little time I’ve spent in it. After I’d hired an expert from the Foundation for the Blind to go through the place and blind-proof it, I’ve avoided it. It’s impossible to forget it’ll one day become my prison, the one concession I’ve made to the doctor’s diagnosis.
There had been awe in Summer’s voice as she’d looked at the place, the pool, the beach. She takes pleasure in everything around her, even making dinner in a place where I’ve only ever had takeout. Enjoying a pool I’d never swum in. Filling the contours of my life with color everywhere she goes, and rarely staying within the lines.
My hand tightens into a fist at my side. It’s not fair. None of it. Not my fucking eyesight and not her, not finding her when I’m like this, when I have nothing to offer her.