Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
He nods against me, turning us, and we dance our way along the long side of the floor.
“You’re right.” He says after a few quiet moments. “That’s probably easiest. But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to explain why I went for a walk today.”
“I think I understand. I mean, anyone with a father like yours—”
“It wasn’t my father. Well—let me amend that. I’m sure anytime I’m weird, he’s part of the why. But I think the real issue was that today, in the spa with you… I’ve never had someone be firmly on my side before. At least, someone who wasn’t asking for more from me. I know I’m paying you, but when you said that you didn’t care about the money, when you were touching me and looking like you wanted to kiss me… it felt real.”
I swallow around a tight ball of emotion in my throat. “Well… yeah. That’s why it was hurtful for you to shove me away and then act jealous the second I simply spoke to another man.”
“I haven’t felt real things with a woman in a long time, though. It’s disorienting to get blindsided by that here. Especially when it went against everything I had planned. I think the idea of opening myself up to another kind of hurt sent me to a strange place.”
I pull back, looking into his eyes, impressed with how open he’s being. “I get that.”
“Are we okay?” he asks.
I squeeze my eyes closed, feeling the tight, clenching sensation mirrored in my chest. I don’t love how attracted I am to him. It feels precarious, like walking a tightrope and the fall would be so easy and so deadly. But I also know myself: there’s no cork inside me to bottle it back up. Besides, this talk was good, his transparency is good. I do feel so much better. “Yeah. We’re okay.”
He pulls back, looking at my mouth. “My instinct is to kiss you now.”
“That certainly is what a married couple would do.”
“I’m not really sure what the rules are anymore,” he admits. “I agree we need them, but I don’t think I can make them alone.”
I study his face, wondering if I can give in to this. I think I can, especially if I stop taking it so seriously. “I mean, truthfully, a kiss doesn’t have to mean everything,” I remind him. “I read the contract this time, and there’s nothing in there about physical intimacy. Kissing doesn’t change the terms of our agreement.”
“Correct.”
“And whatever we do,” I reason, “we can agree it’s only for this island.”
“That’s true.”
“So we’re in agreement?” I ask. “Collaborators with benefits? Vacation ride-or-die? No strings attached beyond this?”
He nods, a small smile curling his lips. “Collaborators with benefits.”
West sends one hand up my side, over my shoulder and higher, where he cups the side of my neck with his big, warm palm. His eyes fall closed, and he leans in, pressing his mouth to mine.
I’ve kissed guys. A lot of guys. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s great. But mostly it’s fine. Mostly it feels good but doesn’t hit me like a spear to the chest and a slap to the lady parts. But this kiss? It’s chaste but has me melting. It’s soft, no tongue, just the lingering press of his mouth to mine followed by the easy parting, a pull of my bottom lip between his. Slow, deliberate kisses. Chaste, because we’re in front of everyone, but still so intentional, so claiming, so thorough I feel the sweet exploration in my fingertips and my spine, I feel it in my chest and my belly and between my legs. But most of all, I feel it in my brain, a firework flash, a dopamine flood, the sealing of a happy memory firmly into place.
We pull apart and stare at each other.
“That was nice,” I say.
“Nice?” he repeats, feigning offense. “Looks like I have my work cut out for me.”
“I may invade your side of the bed tonight.”
He gusts out a laugh. “For once?”
“Listen, wise guy, tonight I’m warning you.”
“I’ll brace myself.” His grin widens, and we stop moving as the song comes to an end. West leads me off the dance floor to an empty cocktail table. “Want a drink?”
“Would Janet Weston frown at a dirty martini?”
“Please,” he says. “Janet Weston drinks dirty martinis for breakfast.” He kisses me one more time. “Be right back.”
I watch him go and wish the jacket of his tux didn’t cover his ass, because watching West Weston walk away from me is my new favorite art installation.
“Hey, little sis.”
I turn, startled, to find Alex standing, swirling his cocktail, right next to me.
“Hey… big bro.”
“Enjoying the party?”
“It’s amazing.” I struggle to find something more to say, coming in with the brilliant follow-up, “It’s all been amazing.”
He shrugs, lifting his highball glass to gesture to the splendor around us. “Yeah, but come on. I’m sure you’re used to this kind of thing.”