Her fingers played with the hair at the top of my neck. “Did we?”

White-hot jealousy set my chest on fire when I thought about another guy coming within an inch of her. Touching her. Kissing those soft lips. Over my dead body. “We’re agreeing to it now.”

“Okay,” she said, like it was the simplest answer on the planet.

“Good,” I said a little harshly. “Did you honestly think I was going to see other women after what happened on Mykonos?”

Okay, maybe a whine crept in there.

She shrugged, but the wince clued me in that her defense mechanisms were in control. “No, but when Penna suggested we come down, and then you were snuggled up with Blondie… I don’t know. It’s like you’re two different people—Wilder for the cameras, and Paxton for me—and I thought maybe Wilder needed to appear available.”

The way she saw me, cut through every layer I’d built up, was downright scary. “I am both, and I can tell you that both sides of me are crazy about you.” Her lips parted, and it took all of my restraint not to kiss her. “Bobby needed some party shots to layer in, and I agreed. But you and I have never talked about going public for the camera. Everything on Mykonos I can put a lid on, and even what happened in class wasn’t filmed. I wasn’t going to make that choice without you.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice all breathy.

“This is your choice. I would never force it on you—the cameras, the publicity, the press—but I can tell you that no matter what you decide, things will never go further than having a few drinks on camera with fans. I’m with you. If you want to go public, I’m all for it. Nothing would make me happier than not having to look for cameras before I kiss you.”

“Really?”

I absolutely loathed the surprise in her voice. “Really.” What was with us and that word? “If you want to keep our relationship private, I’ll respect that, too. I’ll hate it, but I never want you to be uncomfortable. I can watch my hands in public,” I promised, making sure they were currently north of her ass. “Probably not my eyes, but I could try.”

The few heartbeats it took her to answer felt like years. Of course I wanted to go public. I wanted everything about us on film, so when she eventually realized what an asshole I was—and left me—I’d have something of her to hold on to. I wanted everyone on this ship—hell, the world—to know that Eleanor Baxter was mine…for as long as she’d have me.

“Okay,” she whispered. “We can go public.”

“Really?” I asked, ready to crow.

“Really,” she said with a smile I couldn’t wait to kiss off her face.

And she’d given me permission to.

I moved one hand to her ass and gripped the base of her neck with the other, then took her mouth. Deepening the kiss, I used every skill I had to publicly claim her—and lost myself in the process. The dance floor and everyone around us disappeared, until there was only Leah in my arms, her sweet mouth under mine, her whimpers in my ear.

Kissing her got better, hotter, every time, like giving in to the insane chemistry between us only let the fire burn brighter—and that fire was about to burn us both alive in the middle of the dance floor if I didn’t get a grip.

“Take me to bed,” she whispered in my ear, then ran her tongue along the shell.

“Your wish is my command,” I answered, steering my girlfriend toward the door. I waved Bobby off when I heard him calling my name and kept going.

I didn’t stop until I had Leah naked, under me, then on top, screaming my name as she came. I kept going until I had explored every inch of her skin with my hands and tongue, committed every curve and hollow to memory again. Once I found my own release and tucked her in against me, our skin sweaty and our breathing calmed, my body finally stopped moving.

But knowing what was coming for us…well, my mind was a completely different matter.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Leah

Morocco

It wasn’t natural to be this happy. Even when I’d been with Brian for a year, I’d never felt this contentment or the giddy need to see him the way I did Paxton.

On the one hand, it made me feel like utter shit. I’d loved Brian. Maybe not a desperate, soul-consuming love, but a softer version—one that was blurring at the edges with time.

But on the other hand, it gave me the sense that maybe I was finally moving past it in a way therapy hadn’t pulled me through.

I felt free, lifted, and for the first time in forever, morning brought an incredible sense of excitement to see what my day would bring, instead of dread. I especially loved days like today where I woke up in Paxton’s arms, tracing the lines of his tattoos until he opened his eyes.

“You ready?” Penna called from our living room.

“You look good in everything, so let’s go,” Paxton joined in.

I rolled my eyes and looked in the mirror one more time. It was day number two in Morocco, and we’d been anchored at Casablanca for two days. After yesterday’s sweat-fest while we were on the World Religion excursion to the Hassan Mosque and subsequent churches, there was zero chance I was going back out there in pants. When Paxton told me to wear a swimsuit under my clothes, he’d unknowingly solidified my choice.

Well, semi-solidified, otherwise I wouldn’t have been there debating the thigh-length black shorts I’d bought in Mykonos.

“You know, mornings would be so much easier if you’d agree to move into my place,” Paxton said.