Page 73 of Fight For Me

I try to swallow past the sudden lump in my throat but I can’t do anything about the moisture that gathers in my eyes. He must see it, because his expression softens and then he’s pressing kisses all over my face. Against my cheeks, my eyelids, my nose, my chin.

“I’m sorry I made you think it didn’t matter to me,” he murmurs against the corner of my lip.

“I think we need less apologizing and more kissing.”

His laughter vibrates against my mouth and my heart soars right out of my body and high up over the ocean. I could stay like this forever, in his arms, our faces close enough to touch, the sound of his laughter in my ears.

Wyatt has other ideas.

“Come on,” he says, pulling me up to my feet so fast I feel dizzy.

I clutch his forearms for balance, momentarily distracted by the feel of corded muscle under his dress shirt. Maybe he’ll roll his sleeves up for me later. Or maybe he’ll let me roll them up.

“Let’s go,” he says, distracting me from the delicious direction of my thoughts and leaning down to scoop up our discarded shoes.

“Go where?”

“Back to the villa.” It’s hard to see in the dark but I’m pretty sure that’s desire in his eyes. “No one is there right now.”

Part of me doesn’t want to leave. I’m scared if we leave this magical moonlit beach it will cause the spell to break. The ride back to the villa is a good fifteen minutes long—more than enough time for stressy, stuck-in-his-head Wyatt to make a reappearance and put a stop to this.

It turns out, I don’t have to worry. Wyatt doesn’t stop touching me the entire way back. He pulls me across the sand, around a closed-for-the-night surf shop, and out to the street, where he kneels before me to slip my heels back on, pressing a single kiss to my knee. After he orders a ride share on his phone, he stands behind me and wraps his arms around my middle while we wait, holding me close to his chest and leaning down to press soft kisses to the top of my head, my cheek, the slope of my shoulder. In the car, he pulls me into the middle seat so we’re pressed together. I want him to kiss me again and couldn’t really care less about the driver a few feet away. Instead he holds my hand, running his strong, elegant, piano-playing fingers back and forth across my knuckles, and that’s almost as good. I freaking love his hands.

But I also love his lips, and I don’t waste any time once we’re inside, pushing him back against the wall the second we walk through the front door.

“Bossy,” he murmurs when I finally let him up for air.

“I’m a girl who knows what I want.”

His eyes flash and he cradles the side of my face, staring down at me intently. “I know. It’s incredibly sexy.”

Wyatt Warner just called me sexy. There’s a part of me that wants to giggle—probably the ghost of the teenager who mooned over him for so long. A bigger part of me wants to melt into a puddle on the floor at his feet. I’ve never seen so much heat in another person’s eyes. He’s looking at me like he wants to consume me. And I am so on board.

I grab his arm and start tugging him towards my bedroom. “You want to get a glass of wine or something first?” he asks, laughter in his voice.

“Nope.”

“There’s no rush, Alex—”

“Shh,” I admonish, not turning around. “You’re moving too slow.”

“Too slow, huh?” Suddenly his hand is pulled from mine and then his arms are wrapped around me, lifting me off the ground. Before I realize what’s happening, he has me cradled against his chest and he’s striding in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?” I ask, breathless—because Wyatt Warner is carrying me in his big strong arms like I’m some kind of freaking Disney princess or something.

“My room.”

“Why? My room has candles and—”

“Yeah, and my room is a hell of a lot less likely to be invaded by Everly later.”

“Good point.” I feel a rush of giddiness that he expects me to still be in his room later. There’s still a part of me that’s afraid we’re going to have a quickie followed by his regret. But I push those thoughts aside because, again, Wyatt Warner is carrying me in his big strong arms like I’m some kind of freaking Disney princess.

He pauses when we get to his room, casting an almost worried look towards the bed and then the arm chair in the corner, like he isn’t sure where exactly to put me. I wiggle in his arms until he sets my feet on the ground. We stare at each other for a long moment, the tension between us ramping up until I can’t take it anymore. Before I can get too scared, I reach down to grab the hem of my sparkly party top, then pull it over my head.

“Jesus, Alex,” he groans, closing his eyes, expression almost pained.

“Not quite the reaction I was going for,” I mutter.