11
Juliet
“Miller,” I called out when I heard the faint click of the hotel door. “You’ve got to try this body wash. It smells like…” My voice faltered as I stood in the shower. Like a tropical island. The fragrance assaulted me—fruity and sweet mixed with rain showers. Almost an exact replica of the scent on the island, I held the container up to my nose, deeply inhaling and allowing more memories to flash through my head. I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing in and opening them slowly to find a man beyond the steamy glass enclosure. He might have been distorted, but there was no doubt who it was. He came to rest on the tile at the edge of the shower.
“Do you always make it a habit to break into guest’s rooms?” I snapped, not even bothering to cover myself. Shampoo dripped from my hair, and I stepped back into the spray to rinse. My eyes watched his roam my body. I swiped at loose suds slipping down my breasts, listening for the soft splat of them hitting the tile at my feet, while Tack stood casually propped against the wall with one shoulder. Bare feet, dress pants and shirt sleeves rolled up, he looked like a man who’d had a long day at the office.
Without responding to me, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, one buttonhole. At. A. Time. I swallowed as I watched the deliberate striptease. Hard lines of tan skin were exposed with each button until the hint of hair graced his waist. He tugged the shirt from his pants and let it fall to the floor. Without thought, my hands caressed down my sides to my thighs. My fingers itched to reach forward, dipping into the curls at the apex of my legs and rub the achy folds within. The clink of his belt drew my attention. He slipped his pants and underwear down his legs and stepped out of them into the doublewide shower.
“The only habit I’ve had since leaving the island…” he began as he stalked closer to me, “…was searching for a mouse that nibbled at my heart.” Our eyes locked. My back hit the coolness of the tile despite the steamy water. He’d caged me in with the warmth of his body.
“Where have you been?” he whispered, leaning his forehead to mine. My eyes closed with his nearness, the heat of his body increasing the rhythm beating at my core. My fingers twitched to touch him. His forearm rose to rest next to my head.
“I can’t do this,” I whimpered as my breathing shallowed. His presence was too much.
“Because of him?” The implication was clear.
“Miller’s gay.”
Tack smirked, as if he knew. Of course he did.
“It’s because you aren’t the same. You’ve forgotten who you were,” I added.
“But I remembered as soon as I returned,” he said, his fingers combing into my hair.
“No,” I corrected. “You don’t remember who you were from the island. You forgot who you were there.” My eyes begged him to remember, but the coldness still existed at the edges of his moss green eyes.
“I didn’t forget.” His fingers slipped through my wet hair to the nape of my neck. “It wasn’t real, remember?” The sarcasm in his voice hurt, as his hands and his eyes traced over the curve of my shoulder. “That’s what your dissertation said.”
My breath hitched. He’d read my dissertation?
“I had my reasons to say those things,” I whispered. “But it felt real to me,” I added, lowering my voice even more as my eyes fell to the water trickling down his bare chest, mixing with the subtle patch of hair. Shaky fingers reached out for his abs and worked their way upward over the hills and valleys of him.
“Then why did you disappear?”
“I didn’t,” I said, but I couldn’t explain it with him this close. His fingers skimmed down my arm and then skipped over to just under my breast. He pressed upward, lifting the weight without actually touching me there. My nipples stood at attention, both ripe and begging to be caressed, but he continued to map out my body, moving along the curve of my side to my hip. His other arm remained near my head exposing his side. I circled over his broad chest before tickling my fingers below his arm.
“What does it say?” I asked, letting my finger drag a line over his tattoo and then draw back in the opposite direction.
“Read it,” his voice dipped as his fingers traveled over my lower belly, mimicking the tenderness of my fingers on him. My skin prickled. Goosebumps rose. I wanted him closer to me.
“’I am beginning to understand,’ said the little prince. ‘There is a flower . . . I think that she has tamed me.’” My eyes shot up to his but his remained focused on the path he worked over my skin. Swiping back and forth over my lower abs, tickling and tempting me with the tenderness of his touch, my tongue felt thick with the need to lick him.
“The Little Prince?” My voice caught.
His lips curled but he didn’t fully smile. Fingertips returned to my hip and traced down the curve of my thigh as far as he could reach while standing. My hand curled to cup his side and traveled south to his hip. Just touching him in this tantalizing manner had me wet and anxious for something more from him. When my fingers began to skim the flat expanse leading to the thick length resting between us, he gripped my wrist, preventing me from further exploration. Holding my wrist, he lowered to one knee, kissed my palm and returned to outlining my body. Both hands met my ankles, and he worked his way slowly upward, skimming my shins and wrapping around to my calves, dipping into the back of my knees before rounding to my thighs once again. It was as if he were memorizing my body, mapping out a long- forgotten land. He stood, drawing fingers closer to that coveted place, the place longing for his touch. My fingers had combed through his hair while he knelt but slipped down his arm as he drew up to his full height. My breathing labored. The beat at my core begged for him.
“I thought the fox tamed the prince,” I croaked, finding it difficult to speak as I referenced the book we once read together.
“The fox wanted to be tamed, but she turned out to be a vixen, sly and cunning.” My heart raced. His fingertips neared the curly, dark hair at the apex of my legs. There he stopped. “You made me wild, Juliet.”
“You tamed me,” I whispered, my voice husky and begging. Touch me, I wanted to scream.
“That made me responsible for you.” His fingers combed at the coarse hair but reached no closer to the spot that ached for him. “But I lost you.”
“I don’t want you to feel responsible.” My hands caressed his hips, skimming to feel the sharpness of his hipbones under my thumbs. Reaching back for the curve of his solid ass, attempting to tug him toward me, the strength in his legs prevented him from moving.
“What do you want?” His voice shook. His eyes remained focused on where he touched me, drawing closer to where I wanted his fingers and yet not close enough.
“I wanted you to love me…but you forgot.” He flipped his gaze to me.
“You left me,” he whispered harshly with a look of shock on his face, and something more—he looked hurt.
“I did.” My guilt riddled me for months after leaving the island. I should have let him come with me to meet Lillian, show himself to her, but I had been selfish then. I wanted to keep him my secret. Added guilt came when I learned the truth of the social experiment. The only place I could look for him had been his father’s company, and that turned out to be a big mistake.
We remained staring at one another a moment, our minds drifting with separate thoughts. Our hands still pressed on one another, rediscovering the shape of each other.
“I’m sorry, Tack.” My voice trembled. “I’m so sorry.”
“Baby.” His tone was a question as his thumb rubbed over my cheek. Tears threatened to fall, caught between my failure, by leaving him, and my frustration in currently wanting him.
“Mouse, just one. Let me have one, for now.” This was us. He wanted permission, and I waited for him to ask. I’d give him anything. I felt it in that moment. He only had to ask me and he could have everything. I nodded, and his lips brushed mine. The kiss was delicate, teasing like the touches he’d been giving my body, taunting me with desire. His lips parted slightly and sucked at mine. I responded in kind with slow, deliberate nips. The kiss was tender. Words that could not yet be said came from the connection.
I’ve missed you.
I still love you.
A loud bang at my door made me jump. Our mouths broke apart. The faint sound of my name wafted through the solid wood and over the roar of the shower.
“I should go,” he said as his forehead came to rest on mine. My fingers fumbled over my lips. I didn’t want him to leave, but I recognized the desperation in Miller’s pounding.
“Let me get the door.”