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I pushed myself up to a sitting position, which was a mistake. The room tilted, and I clutched at his shirt for stability. “Whoa. Everything’s spinning. Make it stop spinning. Did you break the island? Is it s’posed to spin?”

“Lie back down,” he suggested, gently trying to guide me back to the pillow.

“No, wait. I’m hot.” I tugged at the neckline of my sundress. “This dress is strangling me. Like a fabric snake. A very pretty snake, but still a snake. I need to take it off before it eats me.”

“That’s not necessary,” Callan said quickly, catching my hands as I reached for the zipper. “You can sleep in your clothes. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” I insisted, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. “I can’t sleep in clothes. I always sleep naked. Nakey-nakey-nakey.”

His eyes widened. “You do?”

“No,” I admitted with a giggle. “But I could start. New island tradition! Naked island sleeping! All the cool kids are doing it. Or just me. I’d be the cool kid.”

I managed to free one hand and immediately started pulling at the thin strap of my dress, sliding it down my shoulder.

“Anica, stop,” Callan said, his voice strained. “You’re going to regret this in the morning.”

“I regret lots of things,” I said. “I regret not seeing what a jerk Austin was. I regret working so much. I regret not bringing the sexy bathing suit Mari tried to pack for me. ’S just three triangles held together by threads.

Very small triangles. Tiny lil fabric triangles for covering tiny lil parts. ”

“You can regret all those things with your clothes on,” he said firmly, capturing my hands again.

I frowned at him. “You don’t want to see me naked? Am I not pretty enough? Do you not like me? You said you liked me, but maybe you were lying. Maybe you secretly think I’m ugly and my vagina really does have spiders.”

“That is definitely not the issue,” he assured me. “You’re beautiful. But you’re also drunk, and I’m trying to be a decent human being.”

“So noble,” I sighed, flopping back onto the pillow. “But what if I don’t want you to be noble? What if I want you to be... ignoble? Is that a word? The opposite of noble. Un-noble. Dis-noble. Whatever. That’s what I want. The bad thing. The good-bad thing.”

“Noted,” he said, clearly fighting a smile. “But right now, what you need is sleep.”

“And water,” I remembered, reaching for the glass he’d brought. I took a long drink, spilling about half of it down my chin and neck. “Oops. I’m all wet now. Better take off these wet clothes...”

“You’re fine,” he said, taking the glass away before I could make more of a mess. “It’s just a little water.”

“Thank you for taking care of me,” I said. “Most men wouldn’t. They’d be trying to get in my pants. My sad, cobwebby pants. With the spiders. Spider pants.”

“I’m not most men,” he said simply.

“No, you’re not. You’re... Callan. Callan Burkhardt. Cal-lan Burk-hardt. Funny name. Kinda fun to say. Callan Burkhardt, Callan Burkhardt, Callan Burkhardt.” I sing-songed his name, clearly amusing myself.

“That is my name,” he confirmed.

“A good name,” I nodded solemnly. “For a good person. A good, good person. Despite what you want people to think. You’re secretly nice. Like a reverse super-villain. Outside villain, inside hero. You’re a sneaky good person pretending to be bad.”

His expression shifted, something vulnerable flickering across his features. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I can be nice,” I assured him. “When drunk.”

“And what other nice things do you have to say?” he asked.

I considered the question. “Your face,” I decided. “It’s a nice face. The kind of face that deserves nice words. A face-words-nice situation. Very handsome.”

He laughed softly. “I think that’s the rum talking.”

“The rum is very wise,” I insisted. “It knows things. Secret things. Rum secrets. The secrets of the rum gods.”

“Like what?”

I leaned forward conspiratorially, nearly falling into his lap in the process. “Like the fact that I think about you. When I shouldn’t. Which is all the time, because you’re my client, and I’m not supposed to think about clients like... that. The ‘that’ way. The sexy that way.”

His breath caught. “Like what?”

“Like wondering what it would be like to kiss you,” I whispered. “Or what you look like without a shirt. Except now I know about the shirtless part, and it’s even better than I imagined, which is very unfair. Very, very unfair.”

“Anica—”

“Shh,” I pressed a finger against his lips, misjudging the distance and nearly poking him in the eye. “Oops. Sorry. Eye. That was your eye, not your mouth. My bad. Don’t say anything. Just let me look at you for a minute. One minute of looking.”

I studied his face. The strong jawline, the perfect nose, the blue eyes that seemed to see right through my carefully constructed defenses.

“You really are irritatingly attractive,” I concluded.

“It’s very inconsiderate of you. Very rude, actually.

How dare you? How. Dare. You. Be. So. Pretty.

” I poked his chest with each word for emphasis.

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” he said, gently removing my finger from his chest.

“You should. And you should also kiss me. To make up for it. Kissing as apology. Very traditional.”

I leaned forward, eyes closed, lips puckered in what I was sure was a very seductive manner. Like a sexy fish. A sexy, drunk fish. Instead of his lips, I felt his hand gently pushing me back.

“Not like this,” he said softly. “Not when you’re drunk.”

I opened my eyes, hurt and confusion warring with the alcohol-induced haze. “You don’t want to kiss me? I’ve been un-kissed for so long. Years and years of no kisses. My lips are getting dusty, just like... y’know. The haunted house. Everything dusty. So dusty.”

“That’s not it, but I want you to remember it if we ever do kiss. And I want you to be sure it’s what you want.”

“I am sure,” I insisted, though even in my drunken state, I recognized the wisdom in his restraint. “But fine. Be noble. See if I care. I don’t care. I care so little. The least caring that has ever been cared.”

I flopped back against the pillows, suddenly exhausted. The room was still spinning, but now it was a comforting carousel rather than a nauseating whirlwind.

“I’m going to take off your shoes,” Callan said, moving to the foot of the bed. “Is that okay?”

“My shoes can stay on,” I mumbled. “But the dress has to go. It’s strangling me. Slowly killing me with its... its dressness. Death by dress. Dress death.”

He sighed, and I heard him moving around the room. “Here,” he said, returning to the bedside. “Let’s try this.”

He was holding one of his own button-down shirts.

“I’m going to put this on you backwards,” he explained. “That way you won’t be, uh, exposed.”

“Clever,” I approved, sitting up with effort. “But complicated. Very, very complicated.”

With infinite patience and careful positioning to preserve my modesty, Callan managed to get the shirt on me. It was enormous, hanging almost to my knees.

“Now you can take your dress off inside the shirt,” he instructed, turning his back to give me privacy.

I fumbled with the zipper, nearly dislocating my shoulder in the process, but eventually managed to wiggle out of my dress while keeping his shirt in place. The sensation of soft cotton against my skin was heavenly.

“Done,” I announced proudly. “I am now wearing your shirt. This means I own your soul according to ancient law. Ancient shirt law. Very serious. Very binding. Like a contract but with cotton.”

He turned back with a smile. “I think you’re confusing shirts with fairy contracts.”

“Same principle,” I insisted, my eyelids growing heavy. “Very binding. Very serious. Very... magical. Shirt magic. The strongest magic.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said, pulling the covers up over me. “Now get some sleep.”

“You’ll stay?” I asked, fighting to keep my eyes open. “Just till I fall asleep? Just for a lil bit? A teeny tiny bit?”

“I’ll stay,” he promised, sitting back on the edge of the bed.

“Good,” I murmured, already drifting. “Because I like having you here. I like you, Callan Burkhardt. Even though I shouldn’t. Shouldn’t like you. Bad idea.”

His hand brushed a strand of hair from my face, his touch impossibly gentle. “I like you too, darling. Even though I probably shouldn’t.”

I wanted to respond, to explore this mutual admission, but exhaustion and alcohol were dragging me under.