It’s either the drought or the surprise factor, but when our mouths collide, I’m consumed by a blaze of lust that burns my body. I love how his lips mold to mine as if they fit like a piece of a puzzle. He releases a groan when a throaty moan escapes me. I’m breathless and yet, filled with the feeling of new air.
My hands come around his neck, touching his soft, dark wavy hair. His arms wrap around me like a cocoon and pull me closer to him.
There’s nothing between us but heat and the flimsy material of our clothes.
The burning desire pounds inside me, wanting to rip off my clothes, his and just…
I push him away. This can’t be happening. Never in my life have I ever been so turned on by a kiss or by a man—a stranger who’ll probably leave town on Sunday and won’t remember me.
He looks at me. His eyes burn with the same need pounding inside me. Begging for more than just that kiss.
“Sorry, I…” He combs his hair with his long fingers. The same ones I want touching my skin. “I’d be lying if I say I have no idea what came over me, because I do. You’re so beautiful, and when you were in my arms…”
He releases a loud laugh. “I sound like a crazy man. My younger brother would have a field day with me. I normally don’t believe in this”—he points between us—“instant attraction. Yet, here you are, proving me wrong.”
“As amazing as this just was—I think it’s best if I head home. Alone.”
“It’ll probably be for the best,” he confirms my suspicions, but his voice isn’t convincing at all.
Chapter Four
Iskander
My internal clock is still adjusting from New York time. I get out of bed at five in the morning after a long, restless night. Between the old mattress at the inn and my mind focusing on the pretty waitress at the sports bar, I couldn’t sleep for more than an hour straight.
She was stunning. Dark hair, light blue eyes, and a tempting mouth that I couldn’t resist. Her sultry voice was like an enchanting song that pulled me to her. Last night could’ve been great for both of us, but I let her go.
I’m only here temporarily. The tug-of-war to have a summer fling while I’m here versus following my rule of never dating a girl from Luna Harbor is momentarily forgotten when I go out for a run. There’s a big difference between running close to the Hudson in a city that never sleeps and this quiet town.
I forgot how peaceful this place is and how breathtakingly beautiful the view is from anywhere you stand. It’s at the base of the Olympic Mountains and has that charming warmth and natural beauty of a small town.
Once you get in the zone, running is a form of whole-body meditation. My thoughts go places they don’t usually go. It unlocks my imagination and releases the tension of the day or the night before. Running is living. For me, it’s opening myself to the possibilities of something. It reminds me to set one foot in front of the other.
Just for a second I entertain the idea of settling in this quaint town, having a family, and running the brewery as my abuelo did after his father. Dad skipped the tradition to raise us. The sacrifices my father has made so we can see the world, be whatever we want to be, and trying to forget the past don’t go unnoticed. I’m sure a part of him wishes he had stayed.
What’s going to happen if we lose Abuelo to fucking cancer? Is my father going to move back to Luna Harbor or…?
He lives for us, his family. That’s why he thinks it should be easy for his children to leave everything and move here to help. Family is all that matters.
“On your right…” I hear a raspy female voice before someone passes me.
I try to ignore the pretty ass moving in front of me, but fuck, it’s round and gorgeous. Is there something in the water of Luna Harbor that makes women beautiful… sexy?
I speed up to catch stride with the woman. I smirk when I realize she’s the same woman I met last night.
“Good morning,” I greet her, looking at her from the corner of my eye. “Isn’t it too early to be awake after a long night?”
She turns her attention at me and smiles. “What are the odds?” she asks, ignoring my question.
“Statistically speaking, they’re not that high since this town doesn’t have more than five thousand people,” I answer. “You’re bound to see every person in this town at least twice a week if you base it on a mathematical equation. And they know what you had for breakfast as you’re about to step out of your house because—small towns, you know. Based on my own experience, you’re likely to see me at least five times a day.”
She giggles, then places a hand over her mouth. “Why am I giggling? I don’t do that.”
“Are you laughing because I said something funny or true?”
“Why are you up so early?” She evades my question.
“I couldn’t sleep. It was this or head to Aunt Mima’s for coffee,” I state.
“Where?”
“The coffee place,” I repeat.
“Oh, that closed a few years back. I only know about it because the sign is still up. It was weird to be outside the business waiting for it to open… guess what? It never did.”
“So, what do people do for coffee around here?”
“The bakery has an espresso machine, but it always seems to be broken. That’s about the time the tourists swear it’s the end of the world.” She grins. “So, I take it you’ve been here before?”
“Yeah, a couple of times,” I lie. “I’m guessing you’re new in town?”
“From the post Aunt Mima’s shop era. I’ve been here for almost two years,” she explains. “Where are you visiting us from?”
“Seattle,” I answer.
It’s not a lie. I was born here, raised in Seattle, and live in New York. She doesn’t need to know all that. I’m guessing her Luna Harbor visa—as natives of the island call it—is about to expire. People who aren’t born here don’t stay for long. Ask my mother. She left after my youngest brother was born. This town was too dull, and we were a handful.
“Why are you out and about so early?” I repeat my question.
“It’s the best way to de-stress,” she explains. “I had a hard time falling asleep.”
I smirk. “Really? What a coincidence, me too. I could think of a few ways to… release some of that tension.”
“Listen, you’re a good looking guy—and you seem to have a good sense of humor…” she says without inhibitions. “And I’m sure you have moves that will leave me just absolutely breathless…” she feigns with sarcasm, “but—”
“There’s no but,” I interrupt her. “You seem like a practical woman, and I’m not sure about you, but it’s been a long time since I’ve felt attracted to someone the way I am to you. Listen, I’m not offering a marriage proposal. But I think we could have a good time together—and it’s been a very long time since I’ve spent time with a woman. This could be fun—unless you’re afraid you’ll fall in love with me.”
She stops and laughs. It’s a full-blown belly laugh.