by Erin Noelle
When I don’t respond, he continues trying to sell me on the house. “It has two separate bedrooms, each with their own bathroom, so you’ll still have your own space. And I thought with your hand situation it’d be easier than separate hotel rooms.” He’s completely mistaken my silence for me not liking it. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m afraid I like it too much. I may never want to leave.
“You booked this today? When? How?” I tear my eyes away from the jaw-dropping infinity pool adjacent to the dwelling and search his handsome face for answers.
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “This morning when you were being stubborn about letting me help pack your suitcase and it took almost an hour, I realized we needed a place with two bedrooms so I can be around to help. So I did a quick search online, found this place available, and rented it.” Pausing, he punches a code in a keypad next to the door then continues to talk as he swings the frosted glass door open. “I even had the owner stock it with food and drinks for a week, just to be sure we have enough variety. I know you aren’t keen on having a spotlight on you, so I assumed you’d rather not have me feeding you in public places for the rest of the trip.”
His thoughtfulness overwhelms me. So much so that as we walk around and check out each of the rooms, I pay no attention to the brilliant interior design that rivals the one-of-a-kind exterior. I’m head-over-heels for this man, and dammit, it feels so right, I’ve almost convinced myself that it is.
“Which bedroom do you want?” Tavian asks as we stand in the sunken living room after finishing our tour. “I’m gonna grab the bags from the car and get settled in so we can start dinner.”
“It doesn’t matter to me. They’re both huge and amazing,” I tell him honestly, looking back and forth between the two rooms off to our right. Each boasts a king-size bed and an en suite—one with a giant walk-in shower, the other with an impressive soaking tub next to the mountain wall.
“Decide by the time I get back with the suitcases or we’re sharing one,” he commands, then spins around and marches out.
I stand here dumbfounded as his words echo in my head. Or we’re sharing one… sharing one… sharing one.
Is he being serious… and if he is, what does that mean? Lust-driven hope blossoms deep in my core and my dirtiest fantasies finally have a face. Stop, Lyra. You’re getting in way over your head.
He returns, loaded down with our luggage and my backpack that I left behind in my haste to get inside the house, and stops next to me. One cocky eyebrow curves up as his twitchy lip does the same. “And?”
The numbers in his eyes are so dim I can’t even make them out. They no longer matter. Tomorrow isn’t today, and today is what we have now. Right now matters. We matter.
Ready to push my boundaries, prepared for the potential consequences for my non-answer, I say, “And I’ll go explore the fridge and decide what’s on the menu tonight.”
Then, I pivot on my heel and make a beeline for the kitchen.
Dinner was… well, dinner was incredible, but that’s because I talked Tavian into making grilled chicken Caesar salads with homemade dressing for me. Even though he grumbled a bit at first about eating rabbit food and how he’s in charge of the meal decisions from this point on, he wore a smile the entire time I instructed him through the recipe. And after he devoured his initial plate and a second full helping, he admitted that “maybe it wasn’t so bad” and he was “full enough.”
Relying on our ability to discuss pretty much anything and everything, neither of us mentioned the sleeping situation throughout the couple of hours it took us to prep, cook, eat, and clean, and I haven’t ventured out of the kitchen and dining area to see where he put the bags. Regardless, either my pride or my morals will take a devastating blow.
But now that I’ve mastered one-handed dish drying and everything’s put away, it’s time to lie in the bed I made—both proverbially and literally—and learn if it’ll be alone or with Tavian. I shuffle my feet across the cement floor from one fuzzy area rug to another, anxiety weighing them down.
When I reach where Tavian stands in the living room, looking at something on his phone, he glances up at me and says, “I’m going to go out and check some things on the car while there’s still a little daylight left. I thought I heard a funny noise earlier and just want to make sure everything appears to be okay. I can help you with whatever you need when I get back in.”
“Okay, no problem.” I breathe out a sigh of relief. At least I can do this damn room reveal without him watching. “Actually, since you washed my hair last night and we didn’t do much of anything except sit in a car today, it doesn’t need it tonight. I can go ahead and bathe and change. There won’t be any buttons involved,” I joke, hoping to cover up my nervousness.
“Yeah, sounds good.” He smiles and nods his head in agreement, but makes no flirty comment about the shower or helping me dress, because his attention has returned to his phone. “I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”
He damn near sprints out to the car, like he can’t get away from me fast enough, and as the door slams shut behind him, a wave of fear and insecurities nearly knock me over. I don’t know what happened all of a sudden. He’s been flirting with me all day—hell, all week—and now that I finally take the chance and dip my big toe into this pool of whatever the hell all this romance-sex-love bullshit is, he decides he’s done swimming?
Grunting my frustration, I take a quick gander out the enormous window in the front, where he at least has the hood propped up and appears to be inspecting it for something. Swallowing the bile down in the back of my throat, I pad over to the doorway of the first bedroom—the one with the shower. I peek in… and nothing. No bags at all. Untouched.
I move swiftly to the other bedroom and step inside to discover all our bags lined up against the smooth gray rock wall and my backpack on the nightstand. Flipping on the light, I silently scold myself for jumping to conclusions about him wanting to get away from me. I just… I just don’t know what I’m doing.
But seeing that he did put all our stuff in the same room triggers the hope from earlier to resurface, and like a flip of a switch, my body burns with desire. The desire to touch him intimately and to let him touch me. The desire to let go—free-fall—knowing he’ll be there to catch me. The desire to feel alive like I’ve never experienced before, and may never again. The desire to matter to him.
Somehow managing to push my large suitcase over on its side, I unzip it and dig around for a clean pair of panties, Tavian’s gravity shirt, and my bag of toiletries, then disappear into the bathroom, not locking the door behind me.
You know, just in case I might need help.
An hour later—shaving my legs and bikini line with my left hand a feat in itself—I emerge from the bathroom, completely dressed on my own, to discover Tavian must’ve gotten tired of waiting for me, because I can hear the shower running from the other bathroom. I stuff my dirty clothes inside the garbage bag I keep them in then move out into the living area of the house, thinking it’ll be rather awkward if I just get in bed and wait for him.
I dawdle around the room for a few minutes, examining the different pieces of art on the walls and killing time. There’s not a TV in the house, and Tavian already said the phone and internet service are spotty, so my options for entertaining myself are limited since I can’t use my camera.
Winding my way around to the front of the house, I wander out the door to explore the rest of the property. For a brief moment when my bare feet hit the cool earth, I glance down at my clothes and consider going back inside for some pants and shoes but decide against it and trod on in the oversized shirt. After all, it’s not like there’s anyone within fifty miles of us to see me, and the light breeze is welcoming against my exposed skin.
Night fell while I was pruning in the bathtub, but the patio area beckons with a faint yellow glow and the pool itself is lit up electric blue—almost the exact shade of Tavian’s eyes. Sitting down on
one of the chaise lounges, I recline back against the padded cushion and stare up at the darkening sky. The brightest, closest stars already shine radiantly, but with every noiseless minute that passes, more and more appear, until there are so many that they form a sparkling umbrella above me.
“Breathtaking view.”
I startle at the sound of his voice, having not heard him slip out the door, and sit up straight to watch him approach—wet hair, no shirt or shoes, and a loose pair of shorts hanging low on his hips. I take in the bottle of Pinot and couple of glasses in his grasp when he draws near, and smile warmly as my pulse kicks it up a notch. Two things I would’ve had no interest in nine days ago–wine and this intelligent, fun-loving, gorgeous half-dressed man—are now the answers to what I’ve spent the last dozen years searching for: unbridled bliss.
“Yeah,”—I lie back and return my gaze up to the heavens, trying not to drool on myself—“it’s no surprise my dad fell in love with them. How can you not be mesmerized?”
Tavian lowers himself in the matching chair next to mine then pours us each a healthy glass of the burgundy wine. “The stars are beautiful,” he rasps as he extends the drink to me, “but that wasn’t what I was referring to.”
And just like that, the tranquil vibe surrounding me shifts.
Every nerve ending stands at attention, my senses on high alert. I want this—him—like I never knew I could want someone.
“Oh,” I squeak, shooting him a quick side-eye glance. I accept the glass with my trembling left hand and his fingers skim over mine during the transfer, causing me to almost drop it. Immediately, I take a nice, long gulp, ignoring all the rules I learned yesterday at the wineries about swirling and sniffing and swishing. I need something to calm my suddenly frazzled nerves.
A husky chuckle rumbles deep in his throat, and I feel it vibrate directly between my legs. “I see you were able to bathe and dress on your own.”
“I was.”
“That’s a shame,” he tsks.
I snap my head over to him and narrow my stare. Mischief dances in his eyes and he doesn’t even try to hide the shit-eating grin on his face. I don’t know how to reply to that, and I’m afraid even if I did, I’d be giving him exactly what he wants—me riled up.
“But I do need you to wrap my hand for me when we go back inside,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as jumpy as I feel.
Tavian scoots his chair closer, eliminating the space between us, and gently cups my hurt hand in his, lifting it up into the light where he can see it. “How’s it feeling?”
“Better in the wrist for sure. Fingers start to hurt when the medicine wears off,” I murmur as he leans into me, our faces only a couple inches apart. The clean scent from his shower wafts up my nose and I close my eyes while imagining myself nuzzling up to his neck.
“Lyra.” My name sounds like a sexy serenade rolling off his tongue. My body is responsive and ready while my soul is at ease.
“Hmm?” I mumble, tilting my face up to his but keeping my lids shut.
He carefully releases my hand back on my lap, and seconds later, he’s cupping my face from both sides, pulling me to him. “Look at me, buttercup. I want to see those beautiful eyes the first time I kiss you.”
My eyes fly open, locking in on his heated silvery gaze, and I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth. His strong fingers feather along my jawline and glide around to the back of my neck, anchoring me as they tangle in my hair. In a flash, his lips are on mine and the world stops. Stops rotating on its axis, stops revolving around the sun, even gravity stops working, because I’m higher than the stars right now.
Tavian presses his tender yet demanding mouth against mine, and I open effortlessly, ready to give him everything I have. Our tongues move in perfect synchronization, dancing a forbidden tango of desperate twirls and reckless dips. It’s intense, impassioned, and just plain imprudent. But I never want him to stop. I need more.
My left hand grabs at his waist, needing something to ground me, but with him not wearing a shirt, my palm lands on hot rippled flesh, and I moan into his mouth. This is better than any fantasy I’ve ever had.
“Fuck,” he groans, wrenching his mouth from mine as we both gasp for air. “Taste so fucking good.”
“You mean like wine?” I giggle.
He gives me the dimple then comes in for an encore kiss, this one shorter but no less wonderful. “Only a hint of wine. Mostly just your sweetness, buttercup.”
I roll my eyes at his cheesy line, but butterflies swarm in my belly all the same. His charm knows no boundaries.
“C’mon, let’s go inside so I can doctor you up and we can get some sleep.” He pushes to his feet and then, catching me completely off guard, scoops me up off the chair and cradles me to his chest. “We’ve gotta wake up early for our excursion tomorrow.”
“Excursion?” I question, forehead crinkled with confusion. “What excursion?”
The sly smile that tugs at his lips makes my heart skip a beat. Oh, no. What is he planning?
Ignoring my question, Tavian carries me into the bedroom and sets me down on the bed. Still not answering, he gathers the supplies he needs then kneels between my legs. The nightshirt bunches up in my lap, baring all of my legs and probably a glimpse of my panties to him. I ache for his touch, captivated by his physical presence, lost under his spell.
“Do you trust me, Lyra?” he asks, his tone sincere. Bright, hopeful blue eyes peer up at mine pleadingly. Numberless.
Don’t think about what that means. Just go with it.
I nod confidently. “Yes.”
“Then go with me in the morning on blind faith, and I promise it’ll be a day you never forget.”
The usual reluctance I’d feel to agree never comes, and I find myself nodding again. “Okay, I’ll go, but under one condition.”
He secures the bandage after wrapping my fingers. “What’s that?”
“You’ll kiss me again like before.”
Moving faster than humanly possible, he launches onto the bed and pins me down to the mattress. The smoldering expression on his face mirrors the ecstasy I feel as he dips his head. “Hell yes, buttercup,” he mumbles against my lips. “Anytime, anywhere. I’m all yours.”
TAVIAN
07.15.15
“No. Absolutely not. You’ve lost your mind.” Lyra crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me from the passenger seat of the car, her pouty bottom lip begging me to suck on it. “I don’t even know what tandem flying is, but for the record, my ass is meant to stay on the ground, unless it’s in an airplane with a licensed pilot.”
I gaze out the windshield to the sign that reads “Tandemfly Dolomiti” and my face breaks into a huge smile, the adrenaline already pumping for what we’re about to do. And yes, she’s a part of the we, no matter how much she whines or moans. I have no doubt once she’s gliding through the sky, high above the breathtaking scenery below, she’ll change her tune.
“Your record is stupid,” I snort, turning my attention to her. My hand snakes over the middle console and squeezes her upper thigh. “And I’m gonna show you exactly what that ass is meant for if you fight me on this. You said you trusted me last night and now we’ve driven almost two hours to get here. I’ve kept my end of the deal at least a hundred times over since we agreed. Hell, you do this, and afterward I’ll kiss you stupid until you can’t remember what it feels like without my mouth on some part of your body.”
“No.” She tries to stay stoic, pretending my words or touch doesn’t affect her, but I see the crack in her façade—her knees clenching together and the goose bumps on her arms.
I pounce while she’s vulnerable, my visceral instinct to claim her stronger than my moral compass. In a single sweeping motion, I scoop her out of her seat, hauling her ass into my lap. There’s no way she can’t feel my arousal through my lightweight joggers and her thin black leggings, but I don’t give a shit.
“Yes,” I growl as my lips crash onto hers, my tongu
e swiping away any possible excuse she’s about to give me.
Last night, kissing her for the first time… it confirmed everything I thought to be true. She’s it. My one. The variable I never knew was missing.
Though it may make me the douchebag of the century, I did attempt to call Annie yesterday, under the ruse of checking on the car, before anything actually happened between me and Lyra. I know it’s all semantics since I’ve been pursuing her almost the entire trip, but the decent person in me thought I should at least give my girlfriend a head’s up that I’d found my soul mate and officially needed to end things. You know, to ease my conscience from being a grade-A asshole cheater to just a piece-of-shit coward who delivers that kind of news over the phone from the other side of the globe.
It ended up not mattering since I couldn’t get a signal. And after trying for nearly thirty frustrating minutes, I finally gave up and went back inside before Lyra got out of her bath and came searching for me. My plan was to call again this morning when we came into town before I succumbed to the overpowering urge to make her mine. But when I saw her laid out on that chair by the pool last night, wearing only my T-shirt, so exquisite the stars themselves were jealous of her beauty, I knew there was no way I could deny myself another night without tasting her sweet pink lips.
Our mouths break apart once the need to breathe becomes too great to ignore, but I keep her nestled up close to me. “You’re gonna do this and you’re gonna love it, buttercup,” I rasp while stroking my thumb across the apple of her cheek. She purrs and leans into my touch, and I feel like the king of the world. “Nothing’s gonna happen to you today. I fuckin’ swear it.”
Lyra smiles shyly, my hand still cradling her cheek. “You don’t play fair with those kisses.”