He actually flirts with me.
Grumpy, cold, and at times ruthless Heath Spearman seeks personal touch. I try to avoid him, but he makes it impossible. Then, he reminds me about my grandparents.
I understand we have to practice, but he’s going overboard. What does he want from me? Sex?
Okay, that’s my body trying to override logic. I have to keep reminding it that Heath is a friend, and as hot as he is and as great as sex could be between us, it’s a hard no.
No sex.
No.
Sex.
No—
“Are you okay?” he asks, kissing the corner of my mouth. His citrusy sandalwood aroma hits just the right spot.
His sexy voice dragged me out of my head and made me forget what I was thinking. All I want to say is, “I want you. At least kiss me.”
Shut up, Atzi!
And why do I care about his scent? I’m immune to it—to him. Aren’t I?
“Babe, you’re very distracted. Can you hand me a plate, please?”
“Babe?”
“No? Do you think we should go with something different? How about love?”
I frown. “Why are we trying nicknames?”
“We’ve been dating for ten years and we’re about to get married. Don’t you think we should have pet names for each other?”
“That’s…” I frown. “I guess it’ll be helpful.”
“We could try something like mon trésor or go for something in Spanish like mi corazón,” he says, with an almost flawless pronunciation. “If not, we could go with ma belle. What did your parents use for each other?”
I hand him the plate because I can’t think straight when he’s looking at me like I’m breakfast and he’s ready to feast on me.
“Atzi?”
“It never occurred to me that nicknames would be necessary. I guess love is fine. We don’t speak in French or Spanish enough to justify using them.” I scrunch my nose. “That’s tacky.”
He leans closer to me, whispering, “Fair enough, love.”
I jump away from him, shivering.
“And if I were your grandmother, I would be suspicious about your relationship status,” someone says, and I jump away from Heath, almost falling down. Fortunately, Heath is close enough to catch me.
“Are you okay?” He kisses my cheek as he helps me stand on my two feet.
“Of course she’s not. She’s skittish and ready to run away from you.” I tilt my head and find Lysander standing next to the kitchen island. “You two have to try harder. He’s your fiancé. You probably can’t get enough of him. Why would you react as if he’s a wasp or a yellowjacket?”
I shrug. “It’s weird, okay?”
“Well, try to work on that. And I agree with her, don’t start throwing Spanish or French words because you feel like going international will give you more points.”
“Is this why you are here? To annoy the fuck out of me?”
“Yes. It’s going to be so much fun.” Lysander turns around and leaves.
Heath looks at me, tilting his head. “Am I coming on too strong?”
“You’re going from zero to a hundred in less than a second. It’s hard to get used to it.” His lips pass over mine with a slight brush that makes every cell in my body tremble.
“Heath.” I breathe his name, my lips parting.
He teases me once more before lowering his mouth to mine. This kiss is different from the one he gave me at home. It’s slow but deep. This is an exploration. The discovery of a new world. Probably the beginning of something, I just don’t know what. I let him lead, matching his movements and his pace. Tasting his mouth and probably his soul.
I don’t want this moment to end. Never in my life have I ever desired something like I do now.
This kiss, him, his arms.
When we pull apart, his eyes are on fire.
He presses his forehead to mine. “Atzi.” His voice almost cracks.
“What’s happening?” I whisper with a trembling voice. It’s hard, too hard, to speak.
His hands frame my face as he pulls back. Those eyes are full of mischief and desire. I want to know what he’s thinking, what he wants.
“Nothing, everything,” he answers my question with a low voice. “Just trust me, okay? I’ll get you through this.” It’s a promise, but I’m not sure what he’s assuring me of. That my grandparents won’t catch us, or he won’t destroy my heart before this is over.
My throat is closed. I can’t make a sound or say a word, and so I nod. I trust him. I just pray I don’t fall in love with my best friend. More so when he’ll never reciprocate.
Chapter Nineteen
Atzi
After breakfast, we go to the beach. I spend most of the time watching Elliot teach Alyth and Elijah how to stand on a board, it’s entertaining. The little ones can barely stand on the sand. I doubt either of them understands what their father is saying, but watching them copy him is adorable. More so when they fall down more often than they can stand up. I think their butts have hit the surfboard so many times that their diapers will disintegrate.
“Why do you look like you’re trying to solve a puzzle?” Heath kisses my shoulder, and I move forward, glaring at him.
“You okay?”
I brush my shoulder and nod. “Just keep your lips to yourself.”
He rolls his eyes acting annoyed, but I see the smile almost dancing on his lips. “You have to get used to me touching and kissing you.”
This part of Heath is unknown to me, maybe even to his family. Or maybe they’re just watching us to make sure we’re doing what couples normally do. I just can’t get used to that.
“I’m trying,” I almost pout.
“Try harder. We only have a couple of days to look convincing.”
“Fine. And to answer your question, I was staring at the ocean and looking at your niece and nephew. I mean, that thing is massive, and they’re so tiny. I can’t see them ready to hit the waves in the next thirty years.”
He chuckles. “Well, they’re practicing on the sand.”
“Yes, but one day they’ll be in the ocean.”
“You surf and do well. Why wouldn’t they?” He snorts. “Will you let your kids in the kitchen when they’re that young? I mean, it’s hot molten chocolate and dangerous tools.”
I almost roll my eyes because that’s not how things work. Not at all. When Dad introduced me to the kitchen, it was pretty much empty. He only had the mix of the truffles and the cocoa dust. That was my first experience helping him. It was almost like being at Mom’s studio playing with clay or finger paint.
Do I plan on teaching my children everything I know? Of course.
“Yes, I will, just like Dad did when I could barely stand on a chair. According to my parents, I was rolling my first truffles by the age of one.” I shrug a shoulder. “I guess some hobbies are worth passing on to the next generation.”
He nods. “Exactly.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what he’ll be passing to his children, but I immediately recall he doesn’t want any. My heart clenches when I look around and see the happy families enjoying the beach.