Page 48 of Beauty and the Beach
It’s a warm feeling, slow and languid, and I’m not crazy about it—or its implications.
“Thanks,” I say grudgingly, taking the bag from her. She just nods and then carries her own food over to the lounge chair. We eat in silence, and with every moment that passes, the sky darkens more and more.
That darkening sky seems to be conjuring a rock in the pit of my stomach. Because dark means bedtime, and bedtime means bed, under the covers, next to Holland.
Mywife.
When I steal a glance at her and find her eyes on me, agrimace on her face, I know we’re thinking about the same thing.
“We just have to do it,” I say, keeping my voice brisk and businesslike. The warmth she sometimes makes me feel has no place here. I gather up my trash from my meal and head into the bathroom to throw it away, speaking over my shoulder. “This will only be a big deal if we turn it into one. You sleep on one side, I’ll sleep on the other, pillows down the middle.”
“You snore,” she says, following me.
How does she even know that? “I wear nasal strips,” I say shortly. “Give me my pajamas and choose a side of the bed. I don’t care either way.”
“Fine,” she says. She tosses her trash in after mine and then drifts to her suitcase, clearly not excited about the prospect of sharing a bed with me.
I’m not too thrilled about it either.
She pulls out her nightgown and then goes back to the bathroom, emerging one minute later looking like temptation personified. I avert my eyes and take the shirt and pants she passes me.
You are not attracted to her, I tell myself firmly.Get it together.
And of course I’m not—of course I’m not. A bit of bare skin is not what makes a woman appealing in my eyes. No amount of physical beauty can make a bad personality look good.
But into my mind, unbidden, pops the memory of this morning outside Mavis’s hospital suite—Holland fixing my tie, her focused gaze, her satisfied nod when she finished.
And beneath that, another memory of her hand on my tie, in my office this time, pulling me closer as we battle?—
And yet another memory, buried more deeply stillbeneath years of ignoring—flashes of the one moment I never let myself think about.
A dark closet; lips chasing.
My eyes pop wide as it hits me: I think I might actually be attracted to this woman.
“No way,” I mutter, shaking my head as I close myself in the bathroom. I change quickly and then step out again, my gaze seeking Holland. I find her climbing into bed, and for a second I just let myself stare.
My brows furrow as I take in her golden hair spilling over her shoulders; my mouth pulls down into a frown when I notice the slope of her neck and the vulnerable hollow of her collarbone.
I watch as she begins creating a wall of pillows down the middle of the mattress, working intently, and that warmth stirs again in my gut—it even rises up into my chest when I notice her tongue poking out between her teeth, her face screwed up in concentration as she balances pillow after pillow?—
“No!”
The word rips out of me before I realize it; she jumps as she looks at me from the bed, but I can’t fix my horrified expression.
Absolutely not. I can’t be attracted to her. I can’t be attracted toHolland Blakelyof all people?—
Holland Park,my traitorous mind whispers.
“Why are you shouting?” she says, looking annoyed. “You scared me.” She resumes her pillow piling. “I’m going to bed. Do whatever you want, but this is my side”—she gestures to her side of the bed—“so don’t cross over or I’ll force feed you toothpaste Oreos every day for a month.”
I roll my eyes and cross the room, approaching my side of the bed. “Sleeping close to you is the more disgusting optionbetween those two,” I say, but the words are forced—because they’re not true.
I’mattractedto her. How could my brain and my body do this to me? How could I suddenly be finding her…desirable?
Is it really all that sudden, though?my brain whispers.
Right. Tucking that thought away forever. I shudder, shooting her another horrified look as I climb into bed. I manage to smooth my expression when she looks at me this time, though; we exchange awkward glances, sitting up in bed next to each other with nothing but pillows separating us, and then as one we lie down, turning our backs.
