I've kept them. In a special folder I call Saint's Floor. I don't think I'll ever delete them entirely...and so I'm sharing them with you. In the first draft, this scene came early in chapter 2. Without further ado, here's a peek at Saint's Floor:
"Spoiled little rich boy, hmm?" He shook his head, dived into the shallow water and grabbed Esme around the waist. He pulled her against his body, and the water surrounding them seemed to boil. Esme held her breath, eyes open to the stinging water. A few air bubbles escaped Santiago's nostrils and then his mouth was on hers, demanding that she open to him. That she remember.
Her body responded to the kiss, her nipples pebbling against the silk of her bra, her hands encircling his neck. No, she couldn't do this. Not again. Not with this man.
Esme struggled, pushing against his chest, telling herself it was the lack of oxygen making her fight, not the man himself. Because he didn't, he couldn't, affect her like this. Not anymore. Not with so much at stake. Finally they surfaced, both gasping in deep breaths of air, neither looking at the other. Esme pushed her wet hair off her face, dunking back so that the tresses smoothed against her head.
"This can't end well, Esmerelda." He took a deep breath and reached for the surfboard floating nearby. "Not just because of how we react to one another, but because of who my family is. I don't want to be here because I've caused enough damage already. I don't want you here getting caught in the cross-fire."
"Neither of us can leave, Santiago, not if we're to save the villa." Esme fought the urge to reach out to the man who had been her best friend. Her first lover. Who now held her future in his hands and wanted to drop it like a hot potato. "You made a promise and then Constance changed the transfer papers. If you leave now, the villa forfeits to the banks."
"That is the best option. You have a life in California, a good job and a bright future. You shouldn't put any of that in jeopardy."