“What are we doing?” I giggle against his mouth.
“Making out in the supply closet.”
He has me there. That’s exactly what we do.
+ +
For nearly a dozen days, we make out all over the inn. In the laundry room. In the old kitchen. In the guest rooms. In the supply closet. I’ve never been kissed so much in my life. Or been left so sexually frustrated. Because Noah only kisses me, yet each kiss is more than the meeting of lips. His hands roam but never close the distance. My breasts ache from pressing against his chest or him cupping them in the curve of his thumb and index finger but never fully covering them. His hardness grinds where I’m soft, throbbing and desperate for his touch, but he doesn’t cross the line. Fingertips nearly bruise my hips, and he rocks against me, but those digits don’t wander lower, between my thighs, where I drip with desire.
Even more confusing is Noah joins Jonas and me every evening. Being respectful of Jonas’s proximity, Noah and I keep our hands to ourselves other than an occasional swipe up my spine or him moving me by my hips as we circle one another in my tight kitchen. We play board games with my son, or one of us reads to him. We share movie nights and take turns taking Jonas to baseball practice. Noah goes to Jonas’s games.
Once Jonas is in bed, Noah brings me to the kitchen where the wall borders Jonas’s room, where we’re out of sight of his slightly open bedroom door. This is our secret corner for good night kisses that need their own bedroom with a bed although I wouldn’t be opposed to Noah spreading me on the countertop or taking me on the tile floor. I just want to be closer to him.
“The things I want to do to you,” he mutters to my neck as I’m pinned to the wall, cheek against the plaster. He’s behind me, and my arms are loosely pulled behind my back. His hips buck forward, and the weight of his arousal hits my backside.
“I want those things, too.” The admission is garbled as I strain to remain quiet, stifling a moan of pleasure. He does this to me. Brings me to the brink and leaves me restless. I’ve never touched myself as much as I have since Noah’s arrival. The bathroom is my only place of solace, and I swear my core clenches when I simply look at terrycloth. The shower has become my pleasure palace like I’m a randy teenage boy instead of a nearly forty-year-old woman.
I’m so frustrated.
Noah simply hums at my neck in response to my neediness. He spins me and captures my mouth, kissing me in that frenzy he creates before abruptly pulling away.
“I should go.” The heaving of his chest and heaviness of his breathing hint he’d like to stay. But where am I going to take him? The couch is only feet away from Jonas’s room. I appreciate that Noah keeps us distant from that position, but I’d love for him to lay me out and finish what he started. Just once, I want us to go all the way.
“Okay.” I bite my lip, keeping my eyes on him. I want this man too much.
“Don’t look at me like that.” His voice is ragged while hushed. His hands have slipped into the pockets of his jeans. Gone are the slick slacks and dress shirts. Casual looks good on him. I’d like to see how naked fits him.
“How am I looking at you?”
“Like you’d devour me.”
I purr. I’d love to taste other parts of him, but perspective settles in. He’s going to leave. He’s going to break me. I almost look forward to the shattering.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He removes a hand from his pocket and reaches forward but doesn’t touch me. Is he afraid he won’t leave if he does? I want him to stay. Not just tonight but for eternity, and that’s a dangerous wish.
“See you tomorrow,” I whisper, my heart already looking forward to it.
But one day, there won’t be a tomorrow with Noah.
12
[Noah]
I’m so fucked.
Tessa and I have been kissing for weeks, and I want her. I want every goddamn piece of her.
And then I get the call.
“Mr. Weller. We’re happy to inform you our first candidate declined our offer, and we’d like to extend it to you. We’d love for you to come down to the resort and take a look around.”
Punta Cana is giving me a second chance. Or rather, I’m their second-place option. Am I offended? A little bit. I wanted to be their first choice. For once, I want to be someone’s first pick.
I choose you, Noah. It’s that simple, yet I can’t recall a single time life has led in that direction other than the Magellen Hotel and look at how quickly things turned there.
“I’ll need to get time off from my current position, so let me get back to you.”
As the phone call ends, I spin in the office chair. Tessa leans against the doorjamb. She’s wearing those thick-rimmed glasses today, and her hair is in a messy bun at her nape. I haven’t seen her in her crop top again on a workday. A more conservative sweater that covers her backside is in its place. Still, the material hugs her form. My hands have roamed her hourglass shape, but I’m desperate to explore other places on her. I haven’t taken us further for a number of reasons.
One of them being that phone call.
“Everything okay?” Her head tips as her arms cross over her middle.
How much did she just hear? “I need a couple of days off.” I hate to ask as the position is only temporary. The reality hits me hard. I’m leaving here.
I’m leaving her.
Unless she gives me a reason to stay.
Tessa straightens. “Everything all right?” Her concerned expression says so much. She’s truly worried about me. And maybe something is wrong.
“Just…” I scratch at the back of my neck. I don’t want to lie to her. “The resort in Punta Cana called. They’d like to meet with me.”
“Oh.” Tessa immediately averts her eyes. “Oh. That’s wonderful.” She stiffens and licks her lips. “Sure. Of course. When do you need to go?”
“Whenever it’s good for you. I can wait until after the bank meeting or—”
“No, you should go. Leave. Tomorrow.” She isn’t exactly pushing me to depart, but her voice rises with each word. Anger isn’t in the tenor. Her tone is more…resolved. And that feels worse.
“I don’t have to rush off.”
“No. Really.” She rambles again. “Why wait? Tomorrow is great.”
Tomorrow is also the day before her bank meeting. I’ve been hopeful that my kisses have helped her clear her head because the weight of her losing this place has been heavy. I’ve caught her often staring out the windows, arms wrapped protectively around her middle like she does. We haven’t discussed what she’ll do if she loses the place.
I can’t see her anyplace else.
Glancing around the office, I note the open slot mailbox, one for each room when people might have received letters at a hotel. The room keys are still metal with a plastic circle fob denoting the room number. The dark wood desk where Tessa told me her father worked. A nod to modern living is the single cup coffee maker on a metal stand and the desktop computer.