Page 66 of The Romance Adventure

“Prove it.” That playful grin plays on her lips again.

“You just saw me smile.”

“For the first time since we met. I guess I understand why you keep that thing hidden.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s lethal.”

I give Isla a long, appraising side eye that’s more dangerous than the upturn of my lips because of the places it could bring us as I catch her striking blue eyes.

Our gazes dip together.

The corner of Isla’s lip lifts like she knows what I’m thinking.

About her. Always about her. Her eyes, her lips, even her teeth. Her shoulders and soft touch. The brush of her hair against my bare skin. The warmth that emanates from her like she orbits around her own inner sun. Or perhaps she’s drawn me into her gravitational pull.

I smooth a piece of her hair and then polish my palm on her shoulder before tracing my gaze along her collarbones. I arrive at her lips. Two perfect pillows and a gateway to everything I didn’t realize I needed—her voice, the way she conveys her thoughts, insights, smarts, and humor.

And her kiss.

Our heads dip together, our noses skim, and our mouths connect.

The kiss is a waterfall, a natural wonder and awe-inspiring. It’s a refreshing pool, something I didn’t know I desperately needed. A glass of water quenching my thirst.

It’s all that and more.

Isla has no idea what she gives to me with her lips and I want to give everything I have—anything good about me—to her.

So I do. I’ve been called controlling, greedy, an opportunist, but I put my all into that kiss, giving more than I take because Isla deserves that and more. As she sinks into me, our mouths melding together, I have a funny thought—giving is even better than receiving.

Even after we part, say goodnight, and go our separate ways, I can’t stop thinking about Isla and how she came into my life like a wrecking ball, forcing me to release my grip on control. How good it feels to be with her, to talk to her, and to kiss her.

With that, I slip into sweet dreams that keep me in Coco Key, with her, always.

The next morning, I wander to the kitchen for some cold brew when I find CJ studying a nautical chart and measuring something with a sextant.

“Planning to get lost at sea?”

Without looking up, he says, “Someone’s pleasant this morning.”

“Want some eggs?”

CJ glances up and confusion ripples across his face. “Eggs?”

“Yeah. Breakfast. Meal for champions.”

“Sure. That would be great. Thanks. Uh, but why are you being so nice?”

“I’m making breakfast. You’re in the kitchen. It would be rude not to offer you some.”

“When have you ever cared about not being rude?”

I think about Isla encouraging me to use my manners last night at the restaurant.

“Also, you’re smiling. What’s up?” He taps the air with the sextant.

“I’m not smiling.” I crack an egg and see my reflection in the stainless-steel bowl. CJ isn’t wrong.