It's not until I'm back at the hotel and unpacking that I realize that through the last twenty-four hours of my stay at the spa, I hadn't thought of my troubles, my responsibilities at all. And now that I do realize it, there's a quick wash of guilt that it should have been so easy to leave it all behind, to immerse myself in pampering and pleasure.
Like walking into an alternate reality, I suppose, and grimace as I tumble pretty gold boxes onto my bed. Which might explain why I'd barely put up a struggle when Lacey and Simone had urged me to buy creams, lotions, scents, shampoo.
Christ Almighty, hundreds of dollars worth of female foolishness that I'm unlikely to remember to use.
I tug my jeans on, trailing my shirt from my fingers as I walk to the window. The air swooping down from Oahu is bitter. There's no sun in the sky, and I'm grateful for that.
I study the scatter of gold boxes over the simple quilt on my bed which looks like expensive mating lures.
At the sound of footsteps, I call out and begin to gather the boxes up. "Lacey? Got a minute? I have some things here you might want. I don't know why I—"
I break off as Noah, not Lacey, steps into the room.
"What the hell are you doing here? Don't you knock?"
"Did. No one answered." His brows goes up, and his eyes lights with appreciation. "Well, hell, Allie, look at you."
I'm grateful I'd pulled on jeans at least and also very aware that I'm shirtless but for the thin, clinging silk of my thermal undershirt. "Just got back from the spa." I punch my arms through shirtsleeves.
"I know." He comes closer. "You look fine." And lifts a hand to the spiraling curls raining over my shoulders. "I had a couple of bad moments when Tom told me about the place you guys were going. Figured you might come back with your face all tarted up and your hair chopped off like one of those New York models trying to look like a teenage boy. Why do you suppose they do that?"
"I couldn't say."
"How'd you get all that hair of yours into those corkscrews?"
"You hand those people enough money, they'll do anything." I toss back the curls, faintly embarrassed by them. "You want to stand here and talk about salon treatments?"
"I like it. Gives me ideas."
"It's just hair curls."
"I like it curled." His grin spreads as he maneuvers me toward the wall. "I like it straight too, the way it just swings down your back, or when you twist it back in a pigtail."
I know the dimensions of the room well enough to judge I'd be rapping into a wall in another two steps. "What are you doing here, Noah?"
"Is your memory that poor?" He takes a hold of me when I stop retreating. "I didn't figure a few days away would have you forgetting where we left off. Hold still, Allie. I'm just going to kiss you."
I send him a cocky smile. "What if I don't want you to?"
"Then say 'Get your hands off me, Noah.' "
"Get—"
That's as far as I get before he cuts off my opportunity. He tastes sweet, like the first ripe strawberries of summer.
He continues pressing his lips urgently against mine as my pulse begins to race that I could've sworn they're all sorts of fireworks, crafted by anticipation, going off inside me.
My excitement is almost unmanageable. It fuels my eagerness.
When I feel his hands on me, touching me, being familiar, caressing me with such gentleness I didn't think he was capable of, it almost completely undoes me. I want to know what those hands feels like on my bare skin again.
My own hands are shaking as I begin unbuttoning his shirt. I know what I'd find underneath the material and the excitement of the knowledge makes me fumble.
Damn it, he's going to figure out you're a novice before he gets to the last part. I upbraid myself, telling myself to slow down, to be calm.
I couldn't calm down.
One of the buttons gets stuck and I tug at it to no avail, feeling inept.
"Having trouble?"
Is he laughing at me? No, he's not laughing, I realize, raising my eyes to his face. He's smiling.
Really smiling.
I decide to go with the truth. "I'm not used to doing this," I murmur, feeling somewhat embarrassed at my ineptitude.
The smile on his face only deepens. "Good."
"Hey guys," Tom appears in the doorway. "Not to interrupt anything, but I came to let you know the others are horseback riding up into high country to take a look around. Incase you both want to come."
I return his smile. "Sure we'd like to come."
"I can't horse ride," Noah grunts.
"You'll ride with me," I offer, then turn back to Tom. "We'll be ready in five minutes."
__________________
It feels good to ride. Good to be in the saddle, out in the air that crisps with the climb. The horse lops easily through the hills, apparently pleased to be out itself.
The sun shines bright, dazzling light off the trees and adding glitter to them. A falcon calls, a scream in the silence, and I see signs of a deer, of other game, of predators that hunts the hills. The higher we climb, the more thrilled I am to be here.
"He can't swim. Cannot ride a horse either. I bet he has a small dick too." Cory casts us both a look over his shoulders.
The rest of the guys are up ahead of us, and Noah's not used to fast riding so I lead the horse at a slow pace. If he's offended by Cory's words, he doesn't show it.
"Allie would be the judge to that," Noah replies.
I see Cory's eyes narrow into dangerous slits, then he looks back at me. "Don't let him infect you with his rash." Then he rides faster to meet up with the rest.
"God, I hate him."
"No more fighting."
"Cannot promise you that. Not here up to an hour and he's already in my face." I keep an easy hand on the reins as he studies my face. "What did they do to you up there at that fancy spa?"
"All sorts of things. Wonderful things." I tilt my head, send him a sly smile. "They waxed me. All over."
"No kidding? All over?"
"Yep. I've been scraped down, oiled up, waxed and polished. It was pretty good. You ever had coconut oil rubbed over your entire body, Noah?"
"You offering?"
"I'm telling you. At the end of the day this guy would rub—"
"Guy?" The sharp tone of his voice has the horse whining. "What guy?"
"The massage guy."
"You let a guy rub your—"
"Sure." Satisfied with his reaction, I look back ahead of us. "Simone had something called aromatherapy. It seemed to me to be like what people have been doing for centuries. Using scents and herbs to relax the mind, and the body. Now they've slapped on a fancy name and charge you an arm and a leg for it."
"White men," Noah says. "Always seeking profit from nature."
"That was my thought. In fact, I asked Simone's massage therapist why she figured—"
"She?" He interrupts. "Simone had a woman massage lady?"
"That's right. So I asked her why it was she figured her people had come up with all these treatments when Indians had been using mud and herbs and oils before there were whites within a thousand miles of the Rockies."
"How come Simone had a woman and you didn't?"
I glance over at him. "Simone's shy."
"When is Simone ever shy?"
"Anyway, some of the treatments seemed very basic. And the oils and creams not unlike what our grandmothers would have brewed up in her own lodge."
"They put bear grease on you too?"
I bite off a smile. "Actually, I suggested they look into it. You should tell Miss Renee to take a weekend there. Tell her to ask for Travis. He was amazing."
Tom who has been quietly riding beside us, coughs in his hand then clucks to his horse, taking the lead.
"So you let this guy, this Travis guy, see you naked?"
"He's a professional." I flick back my hair, no longer embarrassed a bit. "I'm thinking of getting regular massages. They're very... relaxing."
"I bet." Reaching over, he covers my hands with his on the reins. "I've just got one question."
"What is it?"
"Are you trying to drive me crazy?"
"Maybe."
He nods. "Because you figure it's safe since we're out here and everyone's just up ahead."
"Maybe."
"I'm going to buy me some coconut oil, and we'll see how you look in it."
My heart stutters, settles. "Maybe," I say again.
A shot crashes and echoes, a high-pitched, shocking sound. Someone's horse rears, nearly throwing him off the saddle.
Noah all but shoves me out of our own saddle as we both run towards them in the open.
"Did anyone get hurt?" I ask.
"No. But a horse got shot."
I look down at the animal whimpering on the floor, the pain bright, a violent injury up its shoulder.
"Must be some stupid hunter," I hear someone conclude.
"Had to be a long-range rifle," Noah murmurs, lifting his head to scan the trees, the hills. "I can't see anything. From the direction, I guess he's holed up in some ambush, up there in the rocks."
"Are we just going to leave it here to die?"
"I'll take care of it. Everyone should head back to the hotel. It's no longer safe." Noah plunges knee-deep into the sand and pats a hand on the horse's head.
"The hell with that. I'm not leaving you here."
"The horse is bleeding," Noah tells me quietly. "It has to be looked after. Other horses would be put to danger if you all don't go back."
He's making sense. But the image of him being alone in the hills with an injured horse and a hunter with a rifle is terrifying.
"Don't do anything stupid." I take his face in my hands, kiss him hard. "I don't like heroes."
I take the reins and mount back on my horse, giving him one last look before we all ride off.
I don't have time to look back. But I would always remember the way Noah knelt alone in the sand, the shadows of trees shielding his face.
I lied. I have an open heart for heroes.