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A blush colors her cheeks. “I look like a wet mess.”
“You look perfect.” I reach out and catch a drop of water sliding down her neck. “You’re absolute perfection.”
Her breath catches. “We shouldn’t...”
“I know.” But I can’t stop touching her, tracing the path of another droplet down her collarbone. “Just... let me look at you—touch you. Please.”
She shivers despite the warm morning. “How was last night?”
“Horrible.” My hand slides to her waist, continuing to her hip, feeling the warm silk of her skin through the wet fabric.
“Crystal’s already planning the wedding. Marcus insists we don’t wait.” I inform her. But the words taste sour in my mouth—talking about Crystal doesn’t seem right when I have Lila in my arms.
“Really?” Her eyes widen.
“Yeah,” I rest my forehead against hers, needing her closeness. “But don’t worry. We’ll figure it out. Somehow.”
She lifts her hand to my cheek, and I turn into her touch. “Luke, you look tired.”
“I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about us, about everything we can’t have yet. So, I went running instead.”
“I can tell.” Her fingers trace the sweat at my temple. “You’re all hot and...”
I kiss her before she can finish, unable to resist any longer. She tastes like salt water and sunrise, like everything pure and real in my complicated world. Her towel falls forgotten as she winds her arms around my neck, pressing her damp body against mine despite my sweaty running clothes.
The kiss deepens and turns desperate. My hands slide over her wet skin as I pull her closer, needing to feel her warmth, her reality. She makes a soft sound that nearly breaks my control.
“We have to stop,” she whispers against my mouth.
“I know.” But I kiss her again, softer this time. “I know.”
“Someone could see...”
“Right.” I force myself to step back, though everything in me protests the distance. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’thave—“
“Don’t.” She touches my lips gently. “Don’t apologize for this. Not ever.”
A door slams somewhere down the beach, making us both jump. Reality crashes back like a cold wave.
“I should go,” I say reluctantly. “Before someone...”
“Yeah.” She picks up her fallen towel, wrapping it around herself like armor. “Be careful, okay?”
I back away slowly, memorizing every detail—the way the morning light plays on her damp skin, the slight swelling of her well-kissed lips, the look in her eyes that tells me she’s doing the same.
“Luke?” she softly calls as I reach the steps.
“Yeah?”
“You look pretty perfect yourself.”
The compliment warms me all the way to my lonely apartment, where I finally let myself remember every detail of our stolen moment—the taste of salt on her skin, the soft sounds she made, the way she felt pressed against me.
I touch my lips, still tasting sea salt and sunrise, and try to believe that everything will work out. That somehow,we’ll find a way through this maze of complications and obligations. The morning’s stolen moment replays in my mind—Lila rising from the waves, perfect and real, a vision worth any wait.
For now, that memory will have to be enough.
Twenty-One