by Virna DePaul
“My partner for a late night swim?” I traced my fingers over her calf. “My hand to hold on a walk across the beach?”
She stopped my fingers at her knee. Then she leaned over, her face so close to mine her hair brushed against my cheek. Her shirt fell open so I could see the swell of her breasts in her bikini top, though I dared not to let my eyes leave hers.
“How about the girl you help down this mountain and leave to her dirty dreams of the stranger she met on the trail and left with just a chaste kiss goodbye?”
“That’s quite a long name,” I whispered.
“Samantha for short then.”
I laughed and lowered her foot to the soft, mossy earth. I needed to look at a rock or a bug or anything other than her tanned skin, which was having a huge effect between my legs.
“Well Samantha,” I said, clearing my throat and avoiding her gaze, “thanks to my highly trained eye, I think you’ll make it.”
“Are you sure? I swear I saw a light, Noah.”
“I’m glad you didn’t walk toward it, Samantha.”
When I looked up again, she was studying me. “I think I am, too,” she said.
“You think?”
She bit her lip and continued to study my face. I wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but I hoped she found it.
“We’ll see,” she said. “We’ll see.”
I helped her to her feet and steadied her as she put weight on her injured ankle.
“How does it feel? You should have some swelling. I think it might be best not to put weight on it until you’ve iced it and elevated it tonight.”
She took a cursory step, and I noticed her wince despite clearly trying to hide it.
“Come on,” I said, “put your arm over my shoulder. Let me help you for a while.”
Some unintelligible grumbling escaped her lips, but she nonetheless leaned against me, wrapping an arm over my shoulder. We slowly made our way down the mountain, headed to my Jeep I’d rented. When we’d gone about half a mile, her grumbles turned first to hisses and then to “damns” and finally “fucks.”
“You’re in pain,” I said, hating the idea, wishing I could do something for her.
“No,” she answered far too quickly.
“No one cusses just because. Come on, I’ll carry you.”
“I can walk on my own,” she bit out, then yelped out “Fuck!” when her foot brushed against a rock.
“My innocent ears can’t take this anymore,” I said. I bent at the knees, placed one arm behind her back and the other at her knees, and swept her up into my arms.
“Noah! What are you doing?”
“Saving the innocent forest from your potty mouth,” I said, then smiled at her—with her in my arms like this, her face so close to mine, I could see her blue eyes had flecks of gold in them, and her lips were ripe and full, perfect for kissing. Although right now, those gorgeous lips were frowning. “Sorry,” I added. “I should have asked your permission.”
“Yes, you should have,” she said primly, but she snuck an arm around my neck.
“Not-Your-Name Samantha, is it okay if I act all gallantly and carry you down the mountain?”
She fake sniffed, keeping up the prim and proper act. Nodding at the trail ahead, she said, “Noah, you may. Just don’t cop a feel,” she warned, then added, “or trip.”
Copping a feel wasn’t me, nor was tripping. I gave her a look and hefted her weight, making her squeal. “Really, your foot should be elevated above your heart.” I lowered my arm supporting her back and raised the other arm. “So I should be holding you like this.”
She yelped this time, then laughed as I righted her against my chest.
“I hope you know,” she said breathlessly, “that you just forfeited your kiss.”
“Not even a peck?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Not even on the cheek?”
“Nope.”
“How about a butterfly kiss?”
That made her pause. I looked down at her as we continued toward the base of the trail.
“I may permit a butterfly kiss.”
“Glad to hear my game is still going strong.”
Samantha groaned and flopped her arms back as I held her.
As the sun started to set behind us, we continued the rest of the way in silence. One reason for the limited talking was because I was carrying a human down a mountain. But the larger reason was that I was entirely caught up in all the sensations of her. I could have walked many more miles with her warm back under my hand, smelling her hair, listening to her breathing.
But the trailhead sign loomed up ahead, and all too soon, I lowered her gently into my Jeep. “Where to?” I asked.
She rattled off the name of the very same resort where I was staying, and I grinned. “You have good taste. It’s a beautiful place. I’ve been there a few days already. You?”
“Two days,” she said.
As I drove to the resort, she kept her gaze on me and I felt her curiosity. Her attraction. I wanted to ask her real name again, but didn’t want to appear pushy when she’d clearly indicated she didn’t want to share it already. Besides, I figured since we were staying at the same resort, and since she'd just arrived two days ago, chances were good I’d be able to see her again and she’d tell me her real name on her own. So we kept our discussion to small talk, exchanging our impressions of what we’d seen so far.
Ten minutes later, we were standing in the lobby of her side of the large resort near a row of elevators.
“Sure you don’t need help to your room?” I asked as I put her down and offered my arm for her to lean on.
The girl not named Samantha grinned as she limped into the elevator. “I can manage quite fine, Noah, thank you very much.”
She pushed a button, and the door started to close. When I could no longer see her, I darted forward and slid my hand in. The door reversed its track, and I caught Samantha’s surprised face as I slipped my hand behind her neck and pulled her close. Her eyes closed as I leaned my head down to hers.
She laughed when I fluttered my eyelashes against her cheek.
Our butterfly kiss.
She pursed her lips, then pushed herself closer and fluttered her lashes against my cheek.
“Goodnight, Noah,” she whispered as I stepped out of the elevator.
The doors closed, and I stood there, resisting the urge to hop on the next elevator and spend the rest of the night shouting her name in the halls. But of course, she hadn’t given me her real name. Yet.
“Good night,” I said to the closed doors. “Whatever your name is.”
Chapter 2
Raegan
* * *
I told myself not to flirt with the man on the trail. Not to let him touch my ankle. Not to let Pedro and that other woman leave us alone together.
After they left, I told myself not to talk to him. Not to look at him. Not to touch him.
Clearly I didn’t listen.
Somehow I’d found myself in his arms.
I told my heart not to thud in my chest as he carried me, his strong arms against my skin, his eyes glancing down at me right as I snuck a glance of my own.
My heart didn’t listen, either.
Of course, it was understandable. After all, he was stunning, and I felt drawn to him in a way I hadn’t felt for anyone in a very long time.
On the other hand, the last time it had ended in disaster. Hollywood super star Oliver Joyce had taught me I couldn’t trust passion. Couldn’t afford to appear soft or vulnerable or needy. Not if I wanted to be taken seriously as a doctor. That was especially true now, right when I was about to make my comeback in the medical world.
Which was why I’d ultimately managed to turn down Noah’s offer to help me to my room. I’d gotten myself into the elevator and had been congratulating myself on my willpower until he’d snuck in and given me that butterfly kiss.
The best kiss of my life.
Lying in my
hotel bed that night, I replayed the kiss in my head over and over again, and it was no surprise when memories of that butterfly kiss soon morphed into images of us doing much, much more to one another. Mouths kissing. Hands caressing. Other body parts undulating and pulsing and pounding and thrusting…
Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep.
At the resort’s main pool the next day, I told myself not to search the crowd for any sign of him. And yet, as I sipped my strawberry daiquiri, my eyes darted around. Hours passed and the day wore on, but there was no sign of him.
Probably for the best.
“Can I buy you a drink?” a slurred voice next to me asked in the late afternoon.
A man with a bandana across his forehead was staring straight at my chest. I was mad at myself for hoping it was the man from the trail. For wishing it was Noah. As such, I replied to the man’s question with more bite than I normally would.
I pointed to the poolside tiki hut. “Do you see a menu there?” I asked.
“Um, no.”
“Do you know why?”
“Because it’s an open bar?”
I nodded. “That’s right. So what would you be paying for if the drinks are free?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you implying I’m a prostitute?”
“No, I mean, I just–”
“I’ll get my own drinks, thank you very much.”
He slunk away, and I turned back to my daiquiri and sighed. I barely managed to get ten minutes of peace and quiet before another hot breath huffed in my ear.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Another man but again, not Noah. Hot, though. He had carved abs and a cute smile. He also smelled nice, unlike the last guy. I’d give him at least a nine out of ten. But I wasn’t interested.
I walked him through the same logical thought process as the guy before and stared at his confused face after saying, “Are you implying I’m a prostitute?”
“No, of course not. I just... I have to go.”
“Okay,” I said with a smile. “Nice to meet you.”
That’s how I spent my afternoon. Trying to relax. Anticipating the job interview awaiting me after I returned stateside. Fending off the next few offers as the day light began to fade and tiki lights were lit and twinkling lights flickered on. Enjoying the music when a band set up nearby and couples started to dance. Berating myself for feeling frustrated and confused and disappointed every time I failed to see the one face I wanted to see but shouldn’t want to see.
At one point, I got so tired of giving my spiel to every guy offering me a drink or something else, I just responded with a flat-out no.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“No.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“No.”
“Can I–”
“For the last time,” I growled as I whirled around in my chair, “I am not a prostitute!”
Oh shit.
The man standing before me wasn’t a sweaty guy with a bandana or a greasy-haired hottie or a rugby player from New Zealand or a short man with the impression that I was a prostitute.
It was Noah.
He held his hand out in a sort of half bow and stared at me while everyone in a fifty-foot radius stared at him.
“I don’t think you’re a prostitute, Samantha.”
My cheeks reddened and I just sat there, mouth open, unable to say anything.
“I was just going to ask if you’d like to dance.” He seemed to think about that before adding, “In a non-sexual way.”
“Noah,” I breathed.
“Samantha.” He raised an eyebrow. “Is it Samantha today?”
I covered my face with my hands and laughed.
“I guess Idiot-Who-Shouldn’t-Have-Shouted-That-So-Loudly-Especially-To-The-Guy-Who-Carried-Me-Down-A-Mountain is too long for you?”
Still in his awkward half bow, arm extended, dance-asking pose, Noah pursed his lips. “How about Girl-Who-Says-Yes-To-The-Poor-Man-Waiting-For-An-Answer-With-People-Staring-At-Him?”
I held back a chuckle and shook my head. “Not feeling it. How about… Ali?”
Noah stared at me and shrugged. “I like Ali.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. So, you’ve settled on that? My thighs are cramping up here.”
I made him suffer a second longer before nodding.
“Well, then.” He reached his hand closer to me. “Can I have this dance?”
I pulled my sarong over my shoulders from where it’d been draped over the back of the chair and laid my hand in his.
“Yes Noah, you may.”
He led me past all my failed suitors and right onto the dance floor. The band started a new song and Noah’s hand slipped behind my back. I shivered at his touch, and I just wanted to enjoy being in his arms, but my earlier thoughts about Oliver combined with the intensity of my attraction for Noah had me blurting out, “I’m not looking for anything.” I tipped my head back to look up at him.
He was truly beautiful. Dark, thick hair that fell across one eye as he looked down at me. Sharp blue eyes with eyelashes longer than my own. I placed my arm around his shoulder and could feel muscles there and across his back. He smiled, and I almost swore when I noticed he had dimples, too. Of course he had fucking dimples.
“Noah, I’m not looking for anything.”
He spun me out, and when he pulled me back toward him, whispered in my ear, “Okay.”
“I mean it,” I said over the blare of a trumpet. “I’m not doing anything with you.”
He slid his hand up my neck and dipped me down, leaned over and whispered, “Okay.”
I tried to block out how good he smelled and focus on telling myself I couldn’t do this. I wouldn’t do this. No. No. No.
“I’m not the right girl for you. Noah, I am not that girl.”
He twisted me around and held his arm across my chest as our hips swung back and forth to the pounding rhythm of the music. His voice raised the hairs along my neck and all the way down my back when he whispered a single word to me: “Okay.”
I shifted back around and wrapped my arms around his neck. He locked his hands together at the base of my lower back. Chests touching, we stared at one another under the soft lights and the heat from the tiki lamps.
“Good,” I said, hearing my voice go airy and light from his touch. “Just as long as you know that.”
A grin played across his face. “I think you’re making that very clear,” he said.
My fingers betrayed all my cautious plans by moving along his neck and intertwining in his soft hair. Just as the band transitioned into the next song, he sighed and slid his hands up along my arms until they met mine behind his neck.
When a salsa started, he guided one of my hands to his waist, placed one of his hands on my waist, and clasped our other hands together. As we danced, our bodies in sync, I sighed as his thumb rubbed over my hip bone.
“How’s the ankle feeling?” he asked.
“Much better.”
His hips swayed against mine and mine against his as the tempo of the music raced faster and faster. Or was it my heart racing faster and faster?
“Are you sure you should be standing on it?” He spun me again before pulling me back into the rhythm, into the music, into his embrace.
I grinned up at him. “Why? Are you planning to carry me across the dance floor?”
The heat from his hand was hot as an iron through the thin gauzy material of my sarong, and the tightly packed air around us was hot, humid, and dense. It clung to our bodies as we clung to one another. The other dance partners around us were a blur, and the only thing in focus was his face. As we danced, our chests pressed tighter and tighter against one another. Even my feet managed to brush against his.
As the music swelled, I lost track of our steps. Before I knew it, Noah’s arms were under my ass and he was lifting me into the air. My feet hovered off the ground, my body leaned against his, and my arms
cupped his head, and my hair created a cocoon around us as he looked up at me. I wasn’t sure the music was playing anymore. All I heard in that tight hot space was our shallow breathing. I wondered if he could feel the thrill sparking down my spine or see the lust burning in my eyes. With his strong hands around me, feet off the floor, I was entirely in his control. And I liked it.
He slowly lowered me back down. I felt the friction of his shirt against my nipples and his jeans against my crotch. My cheeks reddened as my toes connected with the smooth wood dance floor. Heat pooled between my legs, and I glanced nervously away.
Without a word, Noah grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd. Multiple men gawked at me with hungry stares, and I pulled my sarong tighter against my bikini-clad body. But then I noticed something else. One after another, they looked away, turned away, moved away.
Confused, I looked to Noah. His eyes were dark, but not with passion or lust. They were dark with anger. He seemed to be two feet taller than his already tall body, and he seemed to have another fifty pounds of muscle added to his already toned figure. He glared at one man who’d dared to get closer to me, and the other man scurried away.
We passed through the resort’s pool area without a single man brushing my elbow or sliding against my shoulder. I held onto Noah’s hand as he took me through the busy hotel lobby and into an elevator.
Finally, we were alone.
“I could have handled that myself,” I said.
“I know,” he said. “But you shouldn’t have to.”
Those words made my skin feel hot, like I was wearing a sweater and wool leggings instead of a bikini and see-through sarong that was slipping from my shoulder. I wanted his hands on me. I wanted him to step forward and put his strong arms on either side of me and kiss me and stroke me and fuck me until I screamed with pleasure.
But I couldn’t want that.
The last time I’d gone with my instincts and surrendered to a wild passion, it had ruined me. My career. My confidence.
I couldn’t let that happen again, no matter how wonderful Noah seemed.
“That’s very gallant, Noah, but I’m not with you,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I finally pushed the button to my floor, then I stepped back and leaned against the corner of the elevator.
