Page 7 of Chasing Paradise

CHAPTER SEVEN

Violet

I woke up warm.

But not the sun-on-my-skin kind of warm like the morning before.

This was a cozier, dreamier kind of heat. A very human kind of heat.

Even as that thought formed, my eyes shot open.

Everything came to me at once.

The steady rise and fall of a chest below me, the thump of a heart beneath my ear, the arm draped heavily across my hips, the fingers that had drifted just up under the hem of my shirt to rest on my bare skin.

In my sleep, I’d sought his warmth like, well, like my little lizard friend Hank, I guess.

That thought almost had a snort escaping me until I realized I maybe had a slight chance to get carefully away from him before he even realized I’d climbed up on him in my sleep.

Okay.

Slow and steady was the way to go here.

I took a deep breath and slowly shifted my arm to brace on the ground on the other side of Wick. That way I could inch my body off of his little by little before fully moving away. And scooting ten or twenty—or a hundred—feet away.

Despite my little mission, my damn body betrayed me. My blood warmed, my breath went quick and shallow, my heart hammered in my chest, and a deep pressure started in my core.

I shifted my weight, making my leg slide.

And becoming intimately acquainted with his hard length against my thigh.

There was no stopping the little whimper of need that escaped me as my sex clenched and I just barely resisted the urge to straddle him, let his length press against my cleft, and rock against him until I got relief from the clawing need deep within me.

Unfortunately, the pre-dawn island was awkwardly quiet.

And Wick came awake with a jolt, his green eyes snapping open and pinning me on the spot.

For a painfully long moment, my breath felt frozen in my chest, making it impossible to form words.

Wick’s fingers moved, gliding across my lower back, sparking a little fire that worked its way up my spine, then sank in deep, burning from deep inside.

“I, uh, um, pulled a Hank,” I managed to say finally.

Wick’s gaze slid from my eyes to my mouth and back.

“I guess I was cold in my sleep,” I added, suddenly throwing myself off to his side. “It’s, um, almost sunrise,” I said, pulling my knees to my chest and trying to ignore the ache between my thighs.

Wick folded up too, likely trying to hide his own—much more obvious—desire.

“What the hell am I supposed to do all day?”

I hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“I heard once that humans were meant to walk around naked in the jungle, eating fruit, and fucking,” he said.

The casual way he’d said that last part had another jolt of desire moving through me.

And I thought for one thrilling moment that maybe he was suggesting we spend the day doing just that.

But then he got up and walked off into the woods without another word.

So, I guess he was doing the whole… gathering fruit thing again.

I sat there for a few minutes more, watching the sun rise.

Then I got up and took off to the woods. When I came back out to eat some of the remaining fruit alone on the beach.

It wasn’t until I was on my third orange, watching Hank—or one of his friends, it was impossible to tell—scamper around eating bugs, that I noticed what was missing.

My HELP sign was gone.

The tide must have come in further than I realized, washing it all away.

A grumble rose up, though it was kind of half-hearted. At least I would have something to do with my day again.

What can I say? I wasn’t someone accustomed to just sitting around doing nothing. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was someone who—when not on a job—liked to rot in bed. But, you know, with movies and shows and music. Maybe, on occasion—if my librarian cousin Luna insisted on it—a book.

Not just… lying around in silence, watching the waves.

I would go stir crazy with nothing to do but think about how much I missed coffee and tacos and, well, anything but fruit and protein bars.

“Alright, Hank. You hold down the fort; I’m going to get some sticks, so I can get off of this lovely little island paradise and back to light pollution, exhaust fumes, and processed food.”

By the time I made it back out of the woods with my arms full of sticks, Wick had been back and gone again, leaving a pile of more oranges, bananas, and an impressive selection of protein bars.

“How the hell did he fit all these in his pack?” I asked Hank as he sunned a few feet away. “What do you think: birthday cake or cookies ’n cream?” Hank’s little forked tongue slipped out, smelling for prey the way snakes would. “You’re right. Why not both?”

I mean, they weren’t actual birthday cake or cookies ’n cream, but if I closed my eyes and concentrated enough, I could almost pretend.

Bars and fruit consumed, I brushed my teeth, and reached for another bottle of water.

Was I completely losing my mind, or had those multiplied too?

No.

That wasn’t possible.

Shaking off those thoughts, I had my small ration of water, then stripped back down to my underwear and took a swim.

I mean, I had to tire my body out somehow, right? Besides, as it turned out, I kind of really liked swimming. It was something I likely would have never learned had I not gotten stranded on some remote island that, apparently, even tourists didn’t want to visit.

So I swam, came out for some more fruit and to reapply the sunscreen Wick had left, then swam some more.

I’d just dried off enough to slip clothes on when I heard it.

The rumble of a speedboat engine.

Hope soared up through me, making me throw my arms up in the air, waving my shirt frantically, even though I didn’t see anyone yet.

“Wick!” I yelled. I spun in a circle, still waving my arms over my head. “Wick! There’s—”

My words fell away as my gaze landed on something that just didn’t quite look right.

Right there, behind a little rock formation, was a pile of sticks.

I mean, maybe it shouldn’t have been weird. There were woods full of trees. Trees had sticks that broke off all the time.

But they would scatter.

And there were no animals on this island that could gather and stack them.

Well, no.

That wasn’t exactly correct, was it?

There was one animal on the island who was capable. And he was six-three, green-eyed, and had very lickable abs.

But why would he remove our chances of being rescued?

Could he possibly want to be stranded on a remote island with no hope of getting off?

I mean, even for someone wanted by the law, that felt extreme.

The most removed from society I’d ever seen a fugitive go was an old hunting cabin in the middle of the woods. But it was well-stocked. And should he have needed more supplies, there was a way to get them.

There wasn’t here.

The sound of the boat drew nearer, but seemed to be coming from the other side of the island.

I didn’t stop to think or try to call Wick again. If he wanted to spend the rest of his life eating oranges and naming lizards, that was on him.

I was getting the hell off.

I rushed back to the shore, knowing I’d need my passport and money. I scooped up my bag while yanking up my shorts, slipped into my shoes, and ran with my shirt still in my hand.

At the corner of the island, the brush grew dense and impassable. So if I wanted to meet up with that boat, I had to run directly through.

My heart was punching against my ribcage and sweat was trickling down my back as I ran, still following the whir of the engine.

“Please wait,” I begged as I pushed myself harder.

I was so desperate that I wasn’t paying attention to where I was stepping. My foot caught something, and I was falling before I could even think to brace for impact.

I landed hard, the wind knocked out of me, leaving me whimpering as I pushed up, trying to get to my knees, then my feet, without being able to breathe.

It was then that I noticed the engine had silenced.

“No, no, no,” I cried with what little breath I had.

My knee was throbbing, and the hot trickle leading down from it meant I must have landed on a stone or stick.

Defeat pressed down on me, making my eyes water and my shoulders sag.

Until I realized something.

The engine hadn’t slowly drifted off into the distance.

It had cut.

Like it had stopped.

Somewhere on the other side of the island.

I pushed myself forward, ignoring the throbbing in my knee and the tightness in my chest.

I had to get there.

I could recover later.

In a hotel room.

With room service.

And a coffee the size of my head.

That last part, that was what gave me the strength to keep going. Even as the woods seemed to grow thicker with each step.

This was clearly where Wick disappeared to forage for food. The tree limbs were heavy with fruit, more than abundant enough to keep the two of us fed for weeks or months.

Now, well, they could just feed Wick.

For years.

Or the rest of his life, for all I cared.

Just when I thought I might never get out of the thick of the trees and underbrush, though, suddenly it opened up into a large circle.

And right there in the center of it sat a glass house. The top floor overhung the lower level, creating a luxurious covered porch to sit on and look out at the lush scenery.

On that porch, sitting on a cushioned chaise with a glass in his hand… sat Wick.

“Duchess,” he called, a slow, lazy, self-satisfied smile spread across his stupidly good-looking face. “You finally made it.”

Suddenly, it all clicked into place.

Removing the HELP sign.

Having an ‘extra’ toothbrush.

The towel.

The supply of protein bars.

The new stash of water.

He wasn’t just some epic packer who was prepared for anything.

He’d found a goddamn house.

That was where he disappeared to for most of the day. Likely enjoying the electricity the solar panels on the roof provided. And food. And maybe running water.

If he had coffee in there, I was going to lose my ever-loving mind.

Who was I kidding?

I was already losing my mind.

I mean, I saw red .

If I ever scoffed at someone who said that they blacked out and woke up with blood on their hands, well, I owed those people an apology.

Because one moment, I was standing there, gaping at the sight before me.

The next, I was running at Wick as he got to his feet.

I took him down to the ground, both of us landing with a grunt, then scrambling, grabbing, rolling, twisting, fighting for dominance.

I didn’t yell. I didn’t curse. Or demand answers.

It was pure, physical anger right then as I threw my weight upward, hooked my legs around his hips, rolled him under me once again, then tried to rise up to… I don’t know. Hit him? Scream in his face? It was anyone’s guess.

It didn’t get to that point, though, as Wick brought up his legs, crossing them around my neck, and pushing with the superior strength of his lower body until I was bending backward toward the ground once again.

I wasn’t in the mood to play fair, though.

He certainly hadn’t been when he’d been keeping this place from me.

Reaching around his thighs, I balled up a fist and slammed down on his crotch.

The way the air rushed out of him was probably a lot more satisfying than it should have been.

I took advantage of his pain, rising over him again, grabbing for his arms like I was going to cuff him or something, despite not having those supplies on me at the moment.

But Wick wasn’t distracted for long.

He wrenched his hands away, both of us fighting for the upper hand.

Then he did it.

Grabbed both of my wrists.

He threw his weight, rolling me under him as he yanked up my arms and pinned them to the wooden porch above my head.

Everything stilled.

All there was in the world was his weight pressing down on me, our mingled labored breathing, the closeness of our faces.

Wick’s green eyes captured mine, refused to let go.

And, suddenly, all the blood that was rushing through my body from the adrenaline started to pool somewhere… really inconvenient.

Wick’s gaze triangulated between my eyes and mouth, making my lips part and my heartbeat thrum harder as his lids went heavy, as a heat filled their green depths.

My own traitorous gaze slipped down to his mouth as desire pinged off my nerve endings.

He was seconds from leaning down, from pressing his lips to mine. When we both heard footsteps approaching.

And thank God for that.

I couldn’t let this guy kiss me.

I was pissed at him.

Right?

My head whipped over, finding a short, well-built man standing there in a lightweight white linen button-up and shorts, his tanned skin gleaming in the sun, his dark, amused eyes looking down at us.

“Is this your house?” I asked, yanking against Wick’s hold. But he was like a vice. He only released me when he wanted to. I scrambled out from under him. “Because you’re harboring a fugitive. He’s wanted by the law, just so you know. You don’t want a criminal like him in your home.”

I mean, he was a white-collar criminal. But this guy didn’t know that.

“It’s not his house,” Wick said as I got to my feet. “It’s my house.”

“What?” My gaze shot to him, still on his knees on the porch, looking up at me.

“This is my house.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is.”

“Got the deed and everything. To the house. And the island.”

“The island ?” Did I have sunstroke or something? There was no way he was claiming to own the house and the whole damn island.

“You’re bleeding,” Wick said, gaze on my knee.

“Yeah, it hurts like a bitch from falling on it too. What do you mean you own—”

“Come on,” Wick said, getting to his feet.

“Come where? Into your remote island house that may or may not have some creepy serial killer room? Yeah, no thanks.”

“There’s a shower. Powdered teas and juices I can turn into drinks. Food. Somewhere soft to sit. Booze.”

“Coffee?”

“Afraid not,” he said, actually looking apologetic. “Come on,” he said, making his way to the door, sliding it open, then holding an arm out to invite me in.

“Who is he?” I asked, nodding toward the man who was still standing there silently, watching us.

“A friend. Of sorts. I’ll explain it all. But let’s go inside first.”

I knew I should object.

But God, a shower, powdered iced tea, and something other than fruit and protein bars sounded like heaven.

So I squared my shoulders and limped toward the door. But I made sure I gave Wick a solid glower as I moved past him.

“I had the nut-punch coming,” he agreed as he moved in behind me.

His friend, for some reason, stayed outside.

The house was every bit as luxurious as the exterior suggested.

It had an open-concept design with faux dark wood tile across the whole space. It should have made the space feel dark, but thanks to the windows all around, it felt warm and inviting.

The kitchen sat to the right and featured state-of-the-art appliances. But not, I noticed, a coffee machine. Who had an air fryer but no coffee maker?

There was a small dining area to the right, then toward the back of the house was a sprawling section in front of a large TV, just begging me to climb on and get some sleep that didn’t involve aches and pains from the hard ground.

Outside of the floor-to-ceiling back windows was a view. But not of the forest. It was of the opposite shore.

And there… there was a dock.

Attached to that dock?

Two speedboats.

“How…”

“You sleep like the dead,” Wick told me. “Turned that thing over, and all you did was roll to your other side.”

“You moved the boat? To make me think we were stranded?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? Why would you do that?” I wasn’t about to tell him, but I’d been panicking, dammit.

“To be fair, you weren’t supposed to jump on that boat.”

“You knew I was there.”

“Not until we almost made it to shore. Get a little seasick, do you?” His lips were twitching, but the slit-eyed look I sent him had him tamping down his amusement.

“You could have turned around and brought me back.”

“I could have.”

“But?”

“Why don’t you go and take a shower, wash away some of that bad mood? I’ll make you something to eat.”

Some part of me wanted to snark at him, to say I didn’t need his hospitality.

But I really, really wanted a shower.

“Fine.”

“Upstairs. Help yourself to anything you want.”

I didn’t need more of an invitation than that.

I had to keep myself from running up the steps.

The upstairs was just as snazzy as the lower level, featuring three bedrooms and two full baths. It had the same dark floor, the same massive surrounding windows, and amazing views no matter which way you looked.

I stepped into the primary bedroom, figuring it would be the best stocked and the nicest. And he owed me that.

The bedroom was dominated by a king-sized bed with all-white linens and a wooden frame. It sat with the feet facing the windows, so you saw the beach the first thing each morning.

I moved into the bathroom with its pristine marble walk-in shower and a deep soaking tub.

I dropped my dirty clothes into that tub. In lieu of detergent, I used some of the hand soap to soak my clothes in, then spent a few minutes agitating with my hands, rinsing, then wringing as best I could.

I had no idea what was next after this damn island adventure, but I sure wanted some clean clothes to deal with whatever it was.

That done, I locked the door, raided his linen closet for supplies, stripped down, and moved under the water. Did I go ahead and let out a moan? I sure as hell did. Fresh water, soap, and shampoo felt like absolute heaven. So did a fresh shave, lotion, and a hairbrush.

It was amazing how so many things I took for granted in my daily life could become luxuries to be savored.

By the time I was dressed in one of my few remaining pairs of clean clothes—dark green cargo pants and a brown tank top—my anger at the whole situation had all but evaporated.

And when the scents of cooking met my nose as I descended the stairs, I was pretty sure I didn’t even care what the circumstances of this whole faking being stranded on an island thing were about.

Until, of course, Wick opened his mouth.