I woke with the soft warmth of morning sun spilling across the bed, the sheets tangled around my bare legs, and the memories of last night clinging to my skin like a second layer. It was different—how he touched me, how he looked at me, how his mouth said nothing but his body spoke in languages I was still learning to understand. A smile curled my lips before I could stop it.
But the space beside me was empty.
The sheets were still warm, but he was gone.
I stretched slowly, savoring the afterglow of the night, then slipped out of bed and padded into the bathroom. After finishing my business, I was brushing my teeth when I felt a shift in the air behind me. A presence. And then his voice.
"Good morning, gorgeous."
The husky calm of his voice slid across my skin like silk. I didn't turn. I didn't need to. I felt him behind me, the way his chest brushed my back, the way his breath warmed my neck. Then, his mouth—soft, purposeful—kissed the slope between my shoulder and throat, sucking gently, like he was signing me with his mouth.
I paused, foam clinging to my lips. He chuckled as I leaned forward to rinse, then turned around and kissed him back.
"Morning, handsome."
His hand brushed my cheek, but his eyes held that wicked glint—the one that always came before something dangerous, something delicious.
"Have you ever done it in the shower?"
My brows pulled together. "Done what—oh."
I caught the glint again, the suggestive arch of his brow, and then his slow grin as he reached behind me to open the glass shower door.
"This is how women miss breakfast," I teased, giggling breathlessly.
"I'll feed you after," he said, pulling me into the warm cascade of water.
His mouth met mine with quiet hunger, his hands sliding over wet skin with reverence and fire. The steam wrapped around us like a curtain, hiding us from the world. His touch was gentle, then commanding. He lifted me like I weighed nothing and pressed me against the wall, water streaming between our joined bodies, lips locked in a rhythm that made me forget the difference between love and lust.
By the time we stepped out, our breaths were still ragged, and the steam on the mirrors was nothing compared to the heat still trapped between us.
He dressed in black slacks and a crisp white shirt, no tie. I slipped into a flowy sundress with golden straps and light makeup. My cheeks were still flushed from the shower. My heart still fluttering in a way I didn't want to name.
"You're glowing," he murmured as we stepped into the elevator. "People are going to know."
"Know what?"
"That I ruined your legs this morning."
I elbowed him gently. "You're the worst."
"No," he said with a smirk, brushing a kiss against my forehead. "I'm the man who's keeping you."
The hotel dining hall was bright and elegant, sunlight pouring in through glass walls that overlooked the sea. The scent of fresh pastries, brewed coffee, and sea salt filled the air.
We were just sitting down, and I was busy picking between croissants or waffles when a pair of stilettos clicked sharply across the marble floor. A woman appeared beside our table—tall, stunning, and sculpted like a magazine spread. Her perfume was intense, her eyes sharper than any blade.
Denzel froze.
I looked up and blinked at the stranger, confused by the tension that suddenly thickened around us.
"Well," the woman said, lips painted a deep crimson. "You haven't changed a bit."
My head turned slowly toward Denzel. He hadn't moved. His eyes were steel.
"Rose," he said coldly.
Rose?
"Denzel," she replied smoothly. "Still surrounding yourself with beautiful distractions, I see."
I stared at her. There was something cruel in the way she looked at me, something possessive in the way she addressed him. It hit me then—this wasn't just any woman.
This was someone from his life.
"You're Rose?" I asked, confused.
Her smile widened, lips curling like a knife. "Oh? He hasn't told you about me?"
"Enough," Denzel said, voice sharp. "Walk away, Rose."
But she didn't.
She tilted her head at me. "Poor thing. You think you're special, don't you? I wore that same expression once—like I meant something."
"Rose," Denzel said again, now rising. "This is your last warning."
"Do they know, Denzel?" she taunted. "That you don't do forever? That you leave when the shine wears off?"
"Leave," he growled.
She blinked, startled by his tone. Her jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, then she turned sharply on her heel and walked off, heels echoing like war drums across polished floors.
I sat frozen. My fork hovered in the air.
He sat down again, his voice clipped. "I was engaged to her. Years ago. It ended for a reason."
"You didn't tell me."
"Because she's irrelevant. She doesn't matter. Not anymore."
"But she thinks she still does."
He reached across the table, catching my fingers in his. "Ignore her. She's history. You're what I'm choosing now."
Later, back in our room, he fielded office calls while I sat by the window and dialed my mom.
She sounded tired but happy. We talked about the weather back home, about her garden. I told her I was somewhere safe with a friend, and that I was okay. I didn't lie—I just left out the parts she wouldn't understand.
After that, I called Zoey.
"Girl, you sound different!" she said the second she picked up. "Are you smiling through the phone right now?"
"I might be," I said, giggling.
"You're glowing, I know it. You finally getting treated like the queen you are?"
"I think so."
She sighed dramatically. "About damn time. Just make sure Mr. CEO doesn't give you a reason to use your pepper spray."
"Zoey!"
"Just saying. Enjoy the trip. Buy something expensive and take a photo like those Instagram girls."
I laughed. "I already did."
Denzel returned as I hung up, watching me with that quiet gaze.
"Ready?"
"For what?"
"You'll see."
He took me to a secret cove on the island—secluded, serene, with turquoise waters and golden sand. The staff had already set up a tented lounge, a picnic, champagne, and music playing softly in the background.
I looked at him, stunned. "You did this?"
"I wanted to give you a memory," he said. "Something untouched by the rest of the world."
We spent the whole day there—laughing, eating, swimming. He chased me into the ocean, and I pulled him under with me. We kissed under the water, laughed until we couldn't breathe. I wore one of the bikinis I bought, and he couldn't stop staring.
"Damn," he muttered, lips trailing my shoulder. "You keep this up, I'll have to ruin you again tonight."
The sun dipped low as we lay together on a beach lounger, my head on his chest, his fingers stroking my arm.
"Do you think this could last?" I asked softly.
He didn't speak right away.
"I don't know," he said.