I’ve only been swimming once since that night.  The smell of chlorine on my skin had made me violently ill. But, I love the water so much. It’s one of the things I’d vowed to reclaim while I was here in Ghana.

This morning after agreeing to meet Harry, I thought this was the time. If I’m going to go on a “date”, then I felt like I needed to conquer this first.

At three that afternoon, when the pool closed for the day and everyone left, I snuck back in despite the bouts of anxiety that had me questioning my sanity.

All of my doubts had dissipated as I discarded my clothes.  One by one, all the reasons I’d had to avoid this for the last five years fell away.  A final flash of doubt had threatened as I’d stood there in my bra and underwear, more naked than I had been outside my own bedroom in years.  

But I didn’t stop.

I stand on the edge of the pool and dive headfirst into the water.  It holds me in the sweetest of embraces as I start to swim. My muscles immediately cry with relief at the exertion.  Tension seeps out of my fingertips with each stroke, anger pushes out through my toes with each kick.  The pool is short, not even half a length, but I swim leisurely until my shoulders protest and my legs burn with the exertion. 

That’s when I start to push myself. I swim faster, push harder.  The pain is like an astringent, stripping me of the cloud of misery that’s clogged my mind for so long.

I can’t think of anything but how blissful it feels to be nearly naked, alone and safe in the water.  Each lap brings a clarity that I haven’t felt in a long time.  I think about the book I read on the five stages of grief.  It listed denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.  I know that my experience is not a linear one.  I’ve bargained and suffered a stunning loss. I’ve been angry and shut out everyone.  I’m angry now, after five long years of denial, of stewing in it, of feeling it in the very marrow of my bones and having to pretend that it has not exhausted me.

My family has been in the midst of a crisis for the last fifteen years, and I was able to use that as an excuse to keep my distance and stay away.  But all of that is over now.  My parents have repaired a marriage that was tested by a prolonged absence.  My sisters are both in committed relationships.  My youngest sister is engaged, my older sister is headed in that direction.  And then there’s me.  What am I going to do with myself?

I don’t know what stage of my grief is next, but I pray I skip the denial and depression and go straight to acceptance.

I finally succumb to my muscles’ cry for rest and pull myself out of the pool.  I stare into the dark water. I survived. No, I did more than that.

I got into the pool feeling afraid, self conscious, and more than a little sorry for myself. Now, I feel proud. I did it. My body sore, but it’s the delicious after burn of setting some of my demons free.

The sob escapes me. A gush of happy tears follow and I cry in relief.

Porsha’s right about one thing. While I’m here, I don’t have to be anyone I don’t want to be. Determined to leave my maudlin thoughts here too, I grab my towel and start to pick up my clothes. I’m wrapping my towel around myself when I hear footsteps.

“Stop!” I yell into the dark, panic welling up fast and hot. “Don’t come any closer.”

* * *

He stops, but I can see he wants to come closer. My heart races, even though I know my fear isn't rational. I know this man won't hurt me, but I can't put my arm down. He's already closer than I'd like.

"What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at five thirty?" My voice is pitched and panicky.

He clears his throat and loosens an imaginary button around his shirt collar. I glance down at myself. My towel is completely covering me, but I have no idea what he saw and when he got here.

"How long have you been here? Have you been watching me?"

"What? No! I mean, yes. But not on purpose. I--" he’s flustered, but he doesn’t try to avoid my eyes.

"Not on purpose? How do you accidentally watch someone swimming?” I push.

"I was going down early to find a spot for us on the beach, Emma," he says, and I know I’ve offended him.

His voice sounds like I'm used to. Arrogant, annoyed, slightly bored. None of the warmth I've found myself so hungry for in it.

"Fine. Can you please turn around so I can get dressed?"

He peers at me and rolls his eyes, but turns around. I admire his broad back, clad in a white dress shirt that fits like it was made for him.

I drop my towel and pull my shorts over my hips and my blouse over my head. My hands tremble, and I fumble over each button as I try to hurry. All of this is so bizarre and frightening. I can’t wait to see his face when he turns around. Will he even notice that I’m not covered from head to toe?

"Tell me why you were crying." My hands stop, and like they were weighed down by stones, they fall to my side. I stare at the ground through a blur of tears.

"It's none of your business."

"Emma," he prompts, and I don't have to look up to know that he's turned back around.

"You weren't supposed to see that!"

His eyes soften as he looks down at me.

"Do you get off on seeing me angry or sad?" Knowing that he may have witnessed what I thought was a private moment, unsettles me.

He watches me for a moment before he steps closer to me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and looks down into my eyes.

“Leave it alone," I groan, embarrassed at how petulant I sound.

"I can't leave it or you alone. Believe me, I've tried," he says. I pull myself out of his grasp. I turn around and pick up my flip flops and turn back around to face him.

He's watching me, an infuriating tenderness in his eyes. He he doesn’t deserve my anger. So I force myself to get over myself and apologize.

"I'm sorry. I thought I was alone," I stammer, but I make myself look him in the eye.

“You don’t need to apologize for your reaction.” His eyes scan the pool area, “I don’t understand why you’re out here alone, though. Anyone could have happened by,” he chides.

"You're right,” I admit with a small shrug. “I wanted to swim when I knew no one would be here.” I throw my bag’s straps over my shoulder and smile at him, trying to dispel some of the lingering tension. “The sun's setting. If we hurry, we can try the fried yam and choffee those women are selling. It’s almost time for them to start shutting down. I'm starved." I start walking.

"It's early for them to be calling it quits."

"They're not calling it quits. The beaches are deserted at night, so they're going into town to set up on the busy corners."

"What's choffee?" he asks, and I walk down ahead of him, drying my hair as I walk. As soon as I leave the cobbled path that leads to the beach and step onto the sand, I pull my shoes on again. The sand here is rough. It's not the fine white sand that sifts through your toes on most beaches I've walked on. This sand is chunky; you can see the sediment and shells and bits of glass that it's made of.

"It's fried turkey tail, and it's delicious." I grin at him over my shoulder and then stop so he can catch up. "Have you eaten any street food while you've been here?" I ask.

He grimaces and gives a dramatic shudder. "No. I'm trying to go back with my digestive system intact."

"You've got try choffee and kele wele," I inform him, and we start walking again.

"Kelly what?" he asks derisively.

"Kele wele. It's fried sweet plantain. It's cooked in ginger and pepper and spices that no one can replicate at home, and it's heaven on earth."

I grab his hand to make us walk faster. "You've got to try it. You haven't lived until you have."

"I’ll try to remember that when I get typhoid. On my deathbed, I can say “well, at least I lived long enough eat street food. It’s a shame no one warned me that it being described as my first taste of heaven wasn’t a figure of speech." He says and I can’t help but laugh.

“Don't be such a pair of balls, Harry."

"A pair of balls?"

"Yes, a pair of weak, sensitive, collapse under the slightest pressure, balls," I reiterate with a laugh.

"You know. That makes a lot of sense. Why have we endowed balls with strength and fortitude they don't have?"

"It's all the patriarchy's fault."

"Ah, yes. The blighted patriarchy."

"Everything's their fault. But while you're talking, we could be eating."

We catch the food sellers as they're pulling their final batches of food out of the oil they use to fry it. They wrap the hot, oily, delicacy in sheets of newspaper. When I reach into the pocket of my shorts to pull out my money, Harry stops me and hands the lady some cash. I thank the woman in Fante and Harry looks at me quizzically.

"This is my mother's village, I can't be rude."

"Your mother's village? You're Ghanaian?" He asks, sounding astounded.

"Uh, yes. Bambi did tell you that I was her cousin, remember?"

"I thought you meant the type of cousins that are really more like very good friends. I have cousins like that, too. I didn't realize you meant by blood,” he looks genuinely perplexed. I’m used to it. No

"My mother is from this town, but my father's Syrian." I wink at him, but don't say anymore, he already knows more about me than I wanted him to.

"Now, get ready to have your mind blown." I sing at him and wave the fragrant, steaming packet under his nose.

He laughs at me but takes a whiff, "I'm beginning to think you're prone to wild exaggerations. Mind blown? Over food?"

"Why? Has nothing you've ever eaten blown your mind?" I'm astounded.

"Food is fuel. Nothing more. I don't eat for pleasure. I eat to stay alive. Honestly, it's a waste of time, I think of everything else I could be doing when I'm sitting down to eat."

My strangled, startled laugh fills the air as I stare at in him in complete shock.

"What are you saying? First you don't like cheese and now you don't even like to eat?"

"I'm just saying, I feel like we make too much of food. It has a utilitarian purpose. That's all."

We walk past a set of rocks that create a haphazard but solid wall separating us from the rest of the beach. I drop my bag, pull out my towel and drop down on it. Harry looks down at me skeptically for a minute.

“What do you also not sit down on public beaches? You’re proving to be quiet the snob, Harry.” I pat the space on the towel next to me. “Come on, live a little.”

With a resigned sigh, he sits next to me, close enough that our shoulders are touching.

It’s nearly dark now, but the sun’s bright rays have become explosive oranges and reds.

I unwrap the hot plantain and extend my hand in offering "Well, how about you waste some time right now and try this."

He rolls his eyes and I pull my hand back, I narrow my eyes at him, "I don't know if I should share with you. Kele wele is too special and rare to give to someone who doesn't appreciate the greatness of food."

"Yes, you're definitely committed to hyperbole. Just give me one." He snatches a piece of the hot, spicy delicacy and pops it into his mouth and starts to chew, his expression knowing and sarcastic. And then suddenly his eyes widen and he stops chewing, but only for a flicker of a second.

"Good Lord," he reaches for another piece, grabs three of them and shoves them in his mouth. "This is amazing."

I laugh and pop a piece into my mouth and groan when the combination of heat, spice, salt and sweet explode on my tongue.

"Can we get more?" he grabs another handful, and shovels it into his mouth

I slap his hand away, "Hey, you're eating all of them. We'll have to wait until tomorrow for more, unless you want to walk into the village to where they've set up for the night," I say through a mouth full of food.

"No, I'm actually really full. I finished eating right before we came out here, but definitely want to come back for more tomorrow." He licks his fingers and rubs his flat stomach, a look of complete satisfaction on his face. I hand him a napkin and he wipes his hands before staring at the sky with a wide smile on his face.

"So, mind blown?" I ask and pop the last piece of it into my mouth.

"Let's not get crazy. It was great. Best thing I've eaten since I've been here, but it takes a lot more than good food to blow my mind."

"God, you're hard to please."

"Not, really." He says, still gazing upwards.

"Well, at least you're not calling it a waste of time." I sigh and stand up. I ball the now empty piece of newspaper up into my hand and look around for a trashcan.

"How could it be? I was with you." His voice is soft, seductive and tender in a way that reaches inside me and caresses the long-neglected, unloved part of my soul with a feather light touch.

I look down at him, his eyes have moved from the sky and now he gazes at the ocean. The sounds it makes are almost sinister. It teems and hisses, lashes the beach with salty kisses and then releases it with a roar. It sends me hurtling backward in time, and I swear I hear it issue a command that the wind carries to me.

“Wake up, Lilly.”

“I used to love to dance.” I say out loud, facing the ocean but talking to the man who is causing my heart riot of in my chest.

“Used to?” he asks, his curiosity quiet, but I know he wants an answer.

“I still do,” I tell him and myself. I smile and crane my neck towards the sounds of music blaring from the resort. My body, finally freed from my mind’s captivity, sways to the hypnotic and vibrant drum beats that are led by jazzy horns and extravagant guitars.

“God, I love this music.” I throw my head back, letting it loll as my body remembers the nights I danced purely for the love of moving to music. And for the first time in years, I get lost in a song. When the music fades and the song ends, I open my eyes and spin around, laughing.

Harry is resting backwards on his elbows. Watching me.

The light of the sun’s final salute reveals a broad, satisfied smile stretching across his beautiful face.

My laughter dies in my suddenly very dry throat. I look down at my feet with an embarrassed smile. “You make me forget myself.”

“It looked to me like maybe you were starting to remember.” He drawls softly.

And how right he is…I am starting to remember the good in my life, the things I’d denied myself in order to get over all of the ugly. The laughter, the dancing, the delight in my food, swimming - all of it was who I am. God! I throw my head back and gaze at the heavens.

“Thank you for this.” Giddiness sends a spontaneous giggle bubbling out of me that is so unexpected that I clamp my hand over my mouth and stare at Harry, eyes wide with disbelief that I am still capable of making that sound.

He rises, slowly unfolding his long sexy body, and walks toward me, the wind ruffing the loose curls that are falling onto his forehead. He never takes his intense, hooded gaze off of mine.

"Let’s get rid of this.” His voice is husky and mesmerizing. His eyes are still on mine when he grabs the crumpled wad of newspaper in my hand before I register what he was asking for. He tosses it over his shoulder toward our blanket. He flashes me a sly grin and then he’s circling my wrist with his big, strong rough hand and pulling me flush against his chest.

I stumble a little as we collide, and his other hand grasps my waist to steady me. I try to take a deep breath, but the air doesn't reach my lungs. Or, my brain. I can't think, but oh I can feel. My entire body is alive with feeling. I tingle in all of the places he’s touching and throbbing in places I’m praying he’ll touch.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re happy,” he whispers, his hand at my waist strokes me absently, his other hand cupping my cheek. He gazes down at me and his eyes are full of every single fairytale ever told. I want to drown in them.

“How can I keep that look on your face? It’s fucking beautiful.” He asks as he searches my face as if he’ll find the answer there.

“Bring me to the beach every day?” I’m feeling reckless and whimsical and I can’t get enough of it. He laughs and I smell the ginger on his breath. My toes curl and dig into the rough sand.

“Only if you let me kiss you first.” He says and his thumb tugs on my lower lip, moistening it a little before he traces the outline of my top lip.

I can still feel the branding heat of our kiss in the elevator. That kiss, for a few beautiful moments, held my entire universe still. It swept me away on a tide I prayed would never break. And for once, my prayers are being answered. We’re picking up right where we left off.

And like a junkie, chasing the ecstasy I discovered from that first high, I need him to kiss me again more than I need my next breath. His hair brushes my forehead as he dips his head toward mine

“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs just before our lips touch. My heart constricts at how fucking perfect everything is.

"You don’t have to ask," I murmur, my lips already tingling in anticipation.

"Oh, but I love hearing you say yes.” His voice is like honey over gravel, rough and sweet.

And the wall came tumbling down.

I nestle closer to him, erasing any space between us and start to say, “Yes, plea-”

His mouth crashes down on mine, cutting me off and taking what he wants. All of the sweetness from yesterday is gone. He doesn’t coax me to open my mouth. His fingers grip my chin hard and when I gasp, his tongue invades my mouth. It’s a hot, messy kiss. Our tongues don’t dance, they spar.

When he’s sucked nearly every ounce of air from my lungs, he nips my bottom lip before his lips begin their search for more of me to devour. He peppers my throat and shoulders with kisses, nips my earlobes, licks the shell of my ear.

"I’ve been fucking praying that I’d get to taste this skin." He says between touches.

"You have?” My words are slurred, I’m drunk on his touch and my head falls backward, offering him more of my neck.

"God, yes,” he groans into my throat. “I’ve fucked my fist every night since the plane and pretended it was your hand on me again. " His teeth scrape the underside of my jaw. His tongue caresses my pulse point. My pussy clenches.

"What else do you think about?" I’m breathless with greed for the details. My hands knead the muscles in his shoulders and tug at his shirt. I want to taste his skin, too.

"I’d rather show you than tell you." He licks my collarbone sucking on the edge where it meets my shoulder.

"Yes, please,” I moan. His kisses travel down the slope of my breast and my nipples start to tingle, greedy and ready for what’s coming.

"My favorite fucking word." And then he sucks my nipple into his hot, hungry mouth and the spike of pleasure that shoots straight from my breast to my pussy is so strong, I feel like I could come from his suckling alone.

I can’t get close enough. I start trying to climb my way up his body. He cups my ass, grinding his hard cock into my lower stomach before he lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist and he walk us back to the towel. My hands dive into his hair, pulling his mouth back to mine, desperate for it. I’m a tempest created by need and want.

He drops to his knees and lays me down on the towel. I sit up and reach for the buttons of my shirt, while he stands up to pull off his own clothes.

“Please hurry, I…” I pull the shirt over my head, taking my bra with it.

His eyes gleam, almost glittering with desire and then he’s moving forward. I scramble to my knees and our bodies meet, bare chest to bare chest, both of us out of breath, our hands roaming each other’s bodies feverishly. "You're going to be the end of me." He breathes across my mouth. He presses kisses to my cheeks, up the side of my face and into my hair.

"Mmmm," I lick my lips and let my hand trip up his back and my fingers luxuriate in the soft swirl of curls at the nape of his neck.

"Baby..." He groans and sucks my lower lip, grazes a kiss on the top one - before his lips settle on mine again. He’s feeding a hunger I didn’t even know existed until this very moment.

It is the reanimating of dreams and desires I’d buried a long time ago and never expected to encounter again.

His hands grasp either side of my neck, his thumbs resting on the dual pulse points in my throat just as our lips touch.

"I can feel your heart beating," he says, smiling against my mouth. His lips take mine again in an open, deep kiss that steals the breath from my lungs. And if it's the price I have to pay to feel this way, I'd be happy to never breathe again.

Stopping isn't possible. It would take an act of God to pry me from his arms.

His strong, warm hands travel down my shoulders and he unbuttons my shorts slowly. Pausing after the button as if he's asking me for permission to move to my zipper.

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” The chant from my impatient mouth. His kiss becomes wilder, his hands seeking, and anticipation burns through me like a wildfire. It incinerates my inhibitions, my worries, my doubts. Leaving only passion, joy, and certainty behind.

The task of undressing threatens to pull our lips apart and his teeth grab my lips in a tenacious, desperate hold. I gasp into his mouth at the pain and his tongue darts out to soothe the sting of his bite. But I don’t want to be soothed. I want to be pushed, to be filled. I want to remember what it’s like to fuck and come because I’m with someone who sets my body on fire.

“Hurry. Please.” I implore. Pride, fear, dignity nothing next to this eruption of demand and need.

My shorts are whisked off, my panties follow. I stand, fully naked wind’s caress is as tender as my lover’s. His hands skim my waist, stopping at the delicate chain of beads that encircle it.

“What’s this?” he asks as he rolls them in between his thumb and forefinger.

“Waist beads, I’ve always worn them. They’re not important.” My mind is focused on moving us forward.

He grabs my hips, nothing gentle in his touch as he hauls me up his body.

“Look at all of this ass,” he groans. I shiver at the reverent slide of his fingers down my heated flesh. “I’m going to enjoy fucking it.” He gives it a tap that stings enough to make me gasp. My legs circle his waist, my arms snake around his neck savoring the scratch of his chest hair and the warmth of his bare skin on mine. He moves to lay us down.

“No, please. Sit. I want to be on top.” I murmur against his mouth. I rock my hips, and he sits back with a soft, “Oomph.”

His hand moves between us, his fingers dive between my legs and the quick, firm swipe of his thumb over my clit makes my entire body buck. My head falls forward and lands on his shoulder and I grind myself onto him. His hard cock is pressed my stomach and I can feel the moisture from the tip as I press myself even tighter against him. He groans and the pad of his thumb strokes my swollen, sensitive clit again and it sends ripples of sensation traveling all over my body.

“Oh, God. Harry.” I moan into his shoulder, my mouth sucking on the warm muscle, my hands back in his hair, holding on for dear life.

“You’re so fucking wet.” He hisses and his soft, demanding mouth comes back to mine in a hungry, plundering kiss that’s all-consuming. I don’t notice he’s stopped touching me until he scoots me backwards onto his thighs.

“What happened?” I moan in protest, trying to move back into place.

“I need to put a condom on.” He snags his jeans from behind me, his arms jostle me as he searches his pockets. I pull away a little to give him room and I watch him roll it down the flared head of his long, deliciously thick cock. My mouth waters at the sight of him, I want to taste him and make myself a silent promise that next time, I’ll do that.

He strokes himself, long, firm strokes and my pussy clenches in hungry anticipation.

In a flash, I’ve crawled back onto him, pushing him back so that he’s laying down. I fist his dick in my hands and then I raise myself over him. He groans something unintelligible as I start to lower myself onto him. I watch his face and discover the delight of knowing that it’s me who’s put the look of rapture on his face. He bites his full bottom lip as my pussy swallows his crown.

The delicious slow burn of my descent makes my thighs tremble and I pause to savor the way he feels. I brush a lock of hair off his forehead. Then, I stroke my way down his face to press my thumb into his mouth. The hot swirl of his tongue on my finger makes my hips buck and I slide down further on his cock.

His hips move up in tiny thrusts and he stares up at me. The urgency in his eyes steals my breath. His neck is corded with veins, and his jaw is clenched. He looks desperate. And yet, he’s holding back, letting me set the pace. Tenderness floods my chest and flows through me as I rest my forehead against his, my hair creating a veil around our faces. He captures my bottom lip between his and groans into my mouth.

“Take what you need, Harry.” I relax my entire body, let him bear my weight.

His hands move to my waist and I cry out when he grabs my ass and thrusts his hips upward filling me completely, seating himself to the root.

“Oh, God.” I pant through my delicious slide up and drop back down.

We find our rhythm and what started as a slow, steady climb turns into a race. He’s meeting me thrust for thrust, both of us panting and muttering words that make no sense. Beads of sweat, the sweet nectar of our labor, fall from my face and onto his lips.

He licks them off and threads his hand into my hair, fisting at the base of my neck and pulling my face down to his.

“You wanted to be on top, show me why. Fuck me,” he growls, “I want to feel your pussy clenching and milking my cock when you come.” The filthy, beautiful, sexy words, the command in his voice, create a fresh surge of moisture that makes each slide onto his dick feel like an electrically charged dose of pleasure.

After a few more thrusts, I feel the telltale tingling, that high note of pleasure that is more powerful each time I hit it. I can hear our breathing, the loud crash of the waves behind us and the high life music wafting from the hotel’s outdoor restaurant. I move to the beat of the music and it’s like lighting a fuse. My climax starts to flare and my pace falters.

Harry sits up, wraps his arms around me. I let my body sag, leaning against his. My head falls back and I gaze at velvety purple of the early evening sky. It’s close enough to touch and I feel so connected to the world around me, to the man beneath me, and for the first time since I can remember, to myself.

“Yes, that’s it, beautiful,” Harry rasps low in my ear. His breath is hot against my skin right before he bites down on my shoulder.

“I’m coming, oh God. I…” My orgasm runs over me the way waves crash onto the shore – hard, overwhelming, and cleansing. I completely lose my rhythm as I try to catch my breath. Harry’s arms are supporting my weight, his hips in control of our fucking now.

His hips set a furious pace, a desperate stroke that’s mindless and completely primal. The end of my orgasm hooks itself onto the crest of another one and this time when I come, he’s right behind me.

My mouth opens in another scream, a victorious one, that the wind captures and carries off into the night.

He’s talking, his voice thick and gravelly. I feel it more than I hear it. It melds with the rush of blood in my ears and the thundering of my own heart to create a sound I’ve never heard before. One that I know is uniquely ours – and it fills me a euphoric sort of satisfaction to know that I made him feel as good as he made me feel.

Sweat rolls down the side of my face and mingles with the tears my orgasm forced from me. As the clouds start to break in my head and I become aware of my surroundings.

We’re outside. In the open. I’m naked in the arms of a man whose touch brought me to tears. His arms skim my bare back. Disregarding my mind’s increasing unease, my body proves to be its own and arches into him.

“I could stay like this all night.” He says and I realize he’s still inside of me. I lift my hips and he slips out of me. With a sigh, he starts to rise. He puts me on my feet in front of him. I can’t take my eyes off him, his body is so beautiful. My gaze roams over his chest, and my nipples tingle as if the hair there is still rubbing against them. My eyes fall to his hands and watch him pull the condom off his semi hard cock.

Muscle memory takes over. The moment loses the magic that the music and the ocean created. My body tenses and my brain takes over. This is when I leave. I should go.

“It’s a good thing you had that handy,” I joke. I step into my shorts, I turn around and pull my shirt on over my head.

“Indeed. It’s been in my wallet for months, my sister put it there. I was annoyed, but tonight, I’ve never been more grateful for her meddling.” He reaches for me, a big smile on his face and I step away, pretending to look for my shoes.

“Do you want to go find some real food? I’ve worked up an appetite.” He asks, tucking himself back into his jeans.

His words act like a fire hose on any remaining haze from the fantasy I’d let myself indulge in. And old habits, especially ones that have been a survival mechanism for the last few years, die hard. Anxiety sends my pulse up a few notches as my fight or flight instincts kick in.

All I can think about is my exit. I stick my feet back into flip flops and gather my courage before I look back at him.

“I should get home, it’s late and we’re leaving for Accra tomorrow, I think.” I say with a smile that feels lopsided and I’m sure looks more like a grimace. I’m grateful for the dark shadow dusk has created over us.

“I thought you were here for a few more days.” He says, his voice noticeably cooler and wary. My heart kicks against my chest. Fuck! He knows what I’m doing and it’s pissed him off. I take a deep breath and steady myself.

“Oh yeah, I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m just…a little out of sorts.” My mind is racing, overwhelmed by what’s just happened. I look at him pleadingly.

“Do you want to eat with me or do you want to go home?” He asks. His tone casual, but each word is weighted with a meaning I understand clearly.

He won’t give me another a chance. If I walk away after what we shared - and we definitely shared something more than a simple fuck - that’ll be it.

So, I have to decide. Right now. I need to weigh my fear of getting carried away and being vulnerable against the chance to enjoy something that was unexpected and amazing. Even if it’s only for a few more days.

I came on vacation to reconnect, to relax and I hadn’t expected any of it to include a handsome, demanding Brit with a dirty mouth who makes want to give him whatever he asks for. But here he is. And I want him.

“I want to eat with you.” I say and his relief is palpable. His shoulders drop a little as the tension rolls off them. His smile returns and he holds his hand out to me. I take it and together, we walk back to the hotel.