Chapter 1: First Touch in the Water
The bass from the club speakers was a physical thing, a thump in the chest that vibrated through the sticky tile floor. Nick shouldered his way through the press of bodies, a cold bottle in each hand, the air thick with sweat and spilled sangria. He found Harry by their usual pillar, his friend’s eyes already tracking a pair of dancers near the edge of the strobe lights.
“Your one o’clock,” Harry said, accepting the beer without looking.
Nick followed his gaze. And stalled.
She was dancing with a friend, a petite girl with loud laughter, but his world tunneled. She was all flowing movement and sun-kissed skin, long chestnut hair swaying against the back of a simple black dress. She wasn’t doing anything performative, just feeling the rhythm with a natural, elegant grace, but there was a latent fire in it. A promise. Her smile, when she tipped her head back and laughed at something her friend said, was wide and genuine, lighting up her whole face.
“Christ,” Nick muttered, the word lost in the din.
“French, I think,” Harry supplied helpfully. “Heard them earlier.”
Nick didn’t need the intel. He was already moving, the crowd parting for his broad-shouldered frame almost on instinct. He came to a stop beside them, catching the eye of the friend first—a tactical move. The friend noticed him immediately, her gaze sharp and appraising.
He leaned down, his mouth near the friend’s ear. “I’m Nick. Can I steal your mate for a dance?” His voice was a low rumble, meant to be heard through the music.
The friend—Lea, he’d learn—grinned, looking past him to where Harry was now approaching. “Depends. Can my mate steal your friend?”
“Already done,” Nick said, returning the grin.
He turned. The girl in the black dress had stopped dancing, her brown eyes slightly wide, a flush on her cheeks that wasn’t just from the heat. He offered his hand. Not demanding. Just an offer.
“I’m Louise,” she said, her voice soft, the French accent wrapping around his name like silk.
“Nick.” His hand closed around hers. It was small, cool in his palm. He led her, not to the heaving center, but to a slightly less crowded pocket near the wall where the lights didn’t strobe so violently.
He didn’t speak at first. He just moved with her, finding her rhythm, which was hesitant for a beat before it matched his. He was a head taller, his rugby player’s build solid next to her slender frame. He rested a hand lightly on her waist, feeling the heat of her through the thin fabric. She didn’t pull away.
“You’re on holiday?” he asked, dipping his head close to her ear. He caught a scent of coconut and salt.
“Yes. From Paris. With Lea.” Her words were a little breathless. “You?”
“Rugby tour. Last night of freedom before we head back to mud and rain.” He spun her gently under his arm, pulling her back a fraction closer than necessary. She came easily. “Architecture,” she said, answering a question he hadn’t asked yet. “I study it.”
“Makes sense,” he said, his eyes tracing the line of her throat.
“What does?”
“You have the look of someone who builds beautiful things.”
She laughed, the sound bright and surprised. “That is a very smooth line.”
“It’s not a line,” he said, and he meant it. Her smile faded into something softer, more searching. The song bled into a slower, deeper track. The space between them vanished. Her hands came up to rest on his shoulders; his slid fully around her waist, anchoring her against him. They weren’t really dancing anymore, just swaying, pressed together from chest to thigh in the hot, dark crush.
He could feel her heart hammering. Or maybe it was his.
“Louise!” Lea’s voice was a pointed interruption. She was at their side, Harry in tow. “We’re thinking of going. To the beach. It’s too loud in here.”
Louise blinked, as if waking up. She looked at Nick, a question in her eyes.
“The beach is a perfect idea,” Nick said, his voice low, his gaze never leaving hers. His thumb stroked a slow arc against the small of her back. He felt the shiver that ran through her. “Our hotel’s right there. We can get towels.”
The walk was a quiet chaos of four people pairing off. Harry and Lea walked ahead, already chatting easily. Nick held Louise’s hand, his fingers laced through hers. The roar of the club faded, replaced by the rhythmic shush of the sea and the chirp of crickets from the dunes. The air was cooler, smelling of jasmine and damp sand.
The beach was a vast, dark expanse under a sky dusted with countless stars. A thin crescent moon cast a frail, silver light on the water. Nick spread a large hotel towel on the sand. Lea, with a theatrical yawn, declared she was going to paddle and dragged a willing Harry toward the foaming surf.
Silence settled between them, thick and alive.
“Are you cold?” Nick asked. She was hugging her knees, looking out at the black water.
“A little.”
He shifted behind her, opening his legs and pulling her back to lean against his chest. His arms came around her, enveloping her. He was warmth and solid muscle at her back. She let out a small, shaky sigh and relaxed into him.
“Better?”
She nodded, her hair tickling his chin. He nuzzled the top of her head, inhaling her scent. They sat like that, watching Lea squeal as Harry splashed her.
“I should probably go in too,” Louise murmured, but she made no move to get up.
“Probably,” Nick agreed. His hand slid from her stomach to her hip, his touch firm and certain. Then he stood in one fluid motion and pulled her up with him. “Come on, then.”
He kept her hand, leading her to the water’s edge. The Mediterranean was shockingly warm. They waded in up to their thighs, the waves pushing against them. Lea and Harry were further out, their voices carried away by the breeze.
“Louise,” Nick said. He turned her to face him. The moonlight caught the planes of his face, his brown eyes dark and intent. Water glistened on his shoulders. He didn’t ask. He just slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, lowered his mouth to hers.
The kiss was soft at first. An exploration. Then her hands came up to curl into his damp hair, and he groaned, pulling her hard against him. The kiss deepened, turning hungry, tasting of salt and beer and pure, wanton heat. His hands slid down her back, over the curve of her backside, pressing her into the evidence of his desire. She gasped into his mouth, her body arching against his.
A larger wave broke, knocking them off balance. They stumbled, laughing, coming up dripping. Her dress was plastered to her, sheer and clinging. His stare was a physical touch.
“Hotel?” The word was rough, stripped bare.
She bit her lip, nodding. “Yes. But… Lea. She’ll worry.”
“They’ll come. We’ll get a suite. Two rooms. No pressure.” He emphasized the last words, tracing her jaw with a wet finger. “Just… closer.”
The walk back to the hotel was a study in tense anticipation. He wrapped a dry towel around her shoulders, his arm keeping it—and him—tight against her. In the elevator, with Harry and Lea discussing room keys, Nick pinned Louise against the mirrored wall, kissing her until the bell dinged for their floor.
The suite was spacious, with a central living area and two bedrooms. Lea immediately claimed one, pointing a finger at Louise. “We are sharing. Safety in numbers.” Her tone brooked no argument.
Harry shrugged, clapping Nick on the shoulder before disappearing into the second room.
Frustration, hot and sharp, flashed through Nick. He saw it mirrored in Louise’s disappointed eyes. He just winked at her, a promise. They ordered chips from room service. They drank mini-bar vodka with lemonade. Lea dominated the conversation, her voice getting slower, her eyelids heavier.
An hour later, she was asleep, curled under the duvet in the far bedroom, snoring softly.
The living room was dark, lit only by the terrace lights filtering through the blinds. Harry had retired. Nick and Louise sat on the large sofa, a foot of careful space between them.
“She’s out,” Louise whispered, a nervous smile playing on her lips.
Nick didn’t smile back. He just looked at her, the intensity of his focus making her breath catch. He reached out and took her hand, pulling her gently to her feet. He led her not to the empty bedroom, but out onto the private terrace.
The night sky was endless. He turned her to face the view, standing behind her, his chest to her back. His arms wrapped around her, his hands sliding up her stomach, under the thin cotton of the hotel t-shirt she’d changed into. His palms were warm and rough against her smooth skin.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered into her ear, his voice a vibration she felt in her bones. His lips grazed her earlobe. One hand rose, cupping her breast over her bra, his thumb stroking her nipple into a tight peak.
She couldn’t speak. She shuddered, her head falling back against his shoulder.
“You feel that?” he murmured, rocking his hips gently against her backside. “That’s what you do to me.” He spun her slowly to face him. In the dim light, her eyes were black pools, her lips parted. He kissed her again, a consuming, slow-burning kiss that melted her resistance into liquid heat.
When he broke away, they were both breathing raggedly. He took her hand and placed it on the hard ridge of his erection, holding it there through his shorts. “That’s for you, Louise. Only for you.”
A soft whimper escaped her throat.
He guided her hand away, lacing his fingers with hers. “Your room or mine?” he asked, the question hanging in the salty air.
From inside, Lea’s snores sawed steadily on. The door to Harry’s room was shut tight.
Louise looked from his eyes to the sliding door, then back. The last of her hesitation evaporated, burned away by the need she saw mirrored in his face. She tightened her grip on his hand.
“Yours,” she said.