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Flushed cheeks, pupils blown, hair still damp and curling at the ends.

She appeared like a woman haunted.

Or hunted.

In the cedar wood drawer beside the bed, she found a complimentary sleep set wrapped in a bow on which sat floral sachets.

Inside were black lace shorts and a soft, loose top that whispered over her skin.

She slipped into it, eschewing her cotton pajamas for the luxury of silk.

She ran a hand through her hair, brushed her teeth at the sink like muscle memory, then padded back to bed, pulling the sheet over her. The cabin was warm and quiet, the walls thick enough to muffle the din of faraway life on the ship, but not the lake.

The waves lapped outside. The night air pulsed with soft forest murmurs, leaves rustling, owls hooting in the trees.

Still, she couldn’t sleep.

She turned onto her side, then onto her back.

Uncomfortable, she tossed again to face the other wall.

Still,helingered in her soul, in her every exhale.

Her body was wired, mind reeling, every part of her attuned to his echo.

No man had ever knocked her off-center like this.

Alexandr-Alexandr Levine Roman was an enigma wrapped in stillness, sensuality, and slow-burning heat.

She was spiraling, so finally, with a frustrated sigh, she tossed off the blanket, rolled out of bed, and crept toward the window on silent feet, not sure what she hoped to see.

She cracked the curtain, and her breath hitched.

There he was.

On the veranda of the cabin next to her own, silhouetted in amber light and lagoon mist.

He stood shirtless, bare-chested, wearing nothing but dark shorts.

Barefoot, smoking a cheroot, the smoke curling around him like a second skin.

He faced the lagoon, relaxed and completely still, like a carved sculpture pulled from the dreams of old-world gods.

The glow from the residence behind cast a gold over the angles of his jaw, the flex of his shoulders, the trail of shifting ink licking down his back.

He lifted a hand, brushing his amethyst-streaked hair from his face, and in that one ripple of movement, she perceived everything: the power, the patience, the predator at rest.

Then, as if feeling her gaze, he turned.

Their eyes locked across the dark. The breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding rushed from her lips.

She dropped the curtain, took a deep inhale, and fled to bed.

12

Thrown To The Wolves

SAVVINE