Echo runs her fingers through her thick curls multiple times. Flipping them to the right, then the left and as always settling them to the same side as before. She fights with the renegade curl that constantly falls over her right eye.
She then turns to check out her outfit and brushes her fingers along the scars of her left arm, then her right. As if confirming they’re still there. As if maybe one day she’ll slide her fingers along her skin and the scars will be gone and maybe the worst night of her life didn’t happen and was just a bad dream.
Last summer, she used to frown when she touched them, but now she doesn’t react. Touching her scars has turned into subconscious movement, something she did for years and that’s become muscle memory even though Echo has found a way to accept her past and her scars.
Echo straightens the top of her bikini and my gaze lingers on her curves. It’s tough not to drop to my knees in worship over that bathing suit. It’s royal blue, my favorite color on her, makes her fire-red hair stand out and her brilliant green eyes pop. And I have to admit, I’m a fan of Echo’s body and a bigger fan of her wearing anything that shows it off.
The second she steps out of this room, every guy within a twenty-foot radius is going to be thinking of ways to hit on her, but they don’t stand a chance. Echo pivots again and catches me staring. She offers a smile, the one she reserves just for me, the siren one, the one that shoots straight through my chest and awakens parts south of my belt.
Echo ties a wrap around her hips, then pins me with her gaze. “Enjoying yourself?”
Immensely. Watching her is one of my favorite hobbies. “Not my fault it takes you forever to get ready.”
Not her fault all I have to do is slip into swimming trunks, and then I keep distracting her with kisses. With a roll of her eyes, she straightens the covers we tangled up.
“Housekeeping has already been through.” I help with the comforter from the other side of the bed.
Echo’s cheeks turn a seductive shade of crimson. “Sometimes they come back, and we wouldn’t want them to think we didn’t appreciate their work.”
“It’s a hotel. They’re aware people do things in bed.”
The blush spreads down her neck and onto her chest and it makes her look too damn hot. Hot enough we may mess up this bed again.
“But they don’t have to know that we do things in the bed.”
I scratch my chin to hide the smile, but with the death glare she sends me, she caught it.
“How about this, Noah Hutchins? We don’t do anything for the rest of the trip and then I don’t have to make the bed.”
Use of my full name. I hold my hands in the air as an act of submission. “Baby, I’ll make the bed by myself every time. Army corners and you could bounce a fucking coin on it.”
She tries not to, but Echo grins as she shoulders the beach bag and I grab the cooler. We’ve been here six days and we’ve settled into a routine I could live with for the rest of my life. Bed, breakfast, walk along the town, bed, lunch, bed, beach, bed, dinner, more walking and then more time in bed. We’ve made this bed so many times I could do it with my eyes closed.
Hate that tomorrow is our last day, hate that we’re on the countdown until she’ll be over a thousand miles away from me, hate that I want to propose marriage and I don’t have a decent engagement ring.
But a friend of mine was in need and hurting and it was more important to give her the money. Echo will understand, she’d approve, but it still makes me feel like shit that I can’t provide for her yet the way I want.
We’re on the eighth floor, so it’s a long ride down the elevator, especially when we stop at every floor. On the sixth we’re joined by a family of five. A mom holding a chubby baby with a head full of black curls, a dad, a toddler who is ready-to-punch-someone pissed because he’s being forced to carry a sand bucket, so he keeps dropping it on my foot, and another little girl, who is the