Page 10 of Etched In Stone (The Stone Saga #3.5)

Krystina

The pristine stretch of Enchanted Isle’s shoreline seemed to extend endlessly in both directions, a ribbon of powder-soft white sand that felt like silk beneath my bare feet.

It was warm between my toes, and I found myself deliberately slowing my pace to savor the sensation.

Palm trees lined the beach like sentinels, swayed lazily in the salty sea breeze, their slender trunks reaching skyward.

The water gently lapped against the shore, producing a soothing melody harmonizing with the rustling of palms and the distant calls of seagulls.

“I didn’t think it was possible, but it’s even more beautiful here than our villa escape in Montego Bay. It makes me not want to return to reality,” I murmured.

I paused to let my gaze sweep across the breathtaking panorama before us. It stretched for miles, the landscape seeming almost too perfect to be real. It was as if we’d stepped into a postcard where every detail had been carefully curated for maximum enchantment.

Alexander’s phone had buzzed earlier while we were exploring the island’s hidden coves, and I’d caught a glimpse of his expression as he read the message—that subtle tightening around his eyes that meant business from the outside world was intruding on our honeymoon.

He’d quickly tucked the device away and focused his attention back on me with that intense concentration that made me feel like the only person in his universe.

But curiosity had gotten the best of me, and I couldn’t help asking who’d contacted him.

“That was Hale checking in,” he’d said when I raised an eyebrow in question.

“Just routine security updates. Helena’s condition remains stable at the facility.

” His voice had carried that carefully neutral tone he used when discussing his mother, the woman whose existence had nearly destroyed our relationship before it began.

“And Justine?” I’d asked gently, knowing the topic of his sister was still a raw wound between them.

Alexander’s jaw had tightened almost imperceptibly.

“She’s adjusting to the consequences of her choices,” he’d said curtly before steering our conversation toward safer waters.

The betrayal he felt over Justine’s role in hiding the truth about their past still cut deep, creating a chasm between the siblings that might never fully heal.

Now, as we made our way along the shoreline, I found myself studying my husband’s profile.

His dark hair caught glints of bronze from the sun, and the strong line of his jaw spoke of determination and barely controlled power.

Even in this tropical paradise, there was something predatory about the way he moved, as if he were constantly assessing his surroundings, cataloging potential threats or opportunities.

“You never did tell me how you discovered this place. Enchanted Isle seems like…” I pressed my lips together, trying to find the words to describe perfection “It’s untouched, and seems like a closely guarded secret.”

“I can’t give away all my sources, angel. That would spoil future adventures,” Alexander replied and flashed me an enigmatic smile that sent a delicious shiver through me. There was a promise in his words, painting images of other exotic locations and private moments stolen away from the world.

We continued to walk silently, both content to enjoy the island’s serenity.

After we left Montego Bay, we’d explored several Caribbean jewels—the sophisticated charm of Grand Cayman with its Seven Mile Beach, the lush volcanic hills of St. Lucia with its towering Pitons rising from emerald seas.

Each destination had offered its own unique pleasures, but we’d always found ourselves drawn back to Enchanted Isle’s untouched tranquility.

Here, there wasn’t another soul for miles in any direction.

It was our own private Eden, a place that seemed suspended in time.

The island was too small and too remote for commercial development, its rocky outcroppings and coral formations making it nearly impossible for larger vessels to approach the shore safely.

Even The Lucy couldn’t get close, and we had to use a small motorboat to reach land.

I looked past the colorful reefs to see The Lucy proudly floating on the glimmering surface of the water.

The dinghy we took to shore was just ahead, nestled in the sand.

Today was our last day here, and once we pushed the little boat into the water and made our way back to the grandeur of The Lucy , it would signal the end of our honeymoon and the start of our journey back to reality.

While we had taken a plane to Jamaica, the boat had taken the long way, traveling from Montauk Marina in New York to the Caribbean.

Unfortunately, our jobs didn’t allow for a lengthy trip back home.

The return would be much shorter. Once we pulled up anchor, we’d go north to Fort Lauderdale.

From there, Alexander and I would catch a private plane back to New York and leave the hired crew to navigate The Lucy back to Lake Montauk.

The thought of returning to the demands of our regular lives sent a pang of regret through me.

I wasn’t ready. It had been three weeks of bliss with my new husband.

Our trusted crew members had navigated the boat, sticking mainly to the control room and their private quarters, ensuring our paths would only cross if one went looking for the other.

This allowed Alexander and me privacy aboard the expansive yacht.

Explosive, lust-filled nights with me bound and at the mercy of my husband’s every desire were followed by seemingly endless days on shore.

“I don’t want this to end,” I admitted, the words escaping before I could stop them. “These three weeks have been...” I searched for adequate words to describe the transformation I’d felt, the way being Alexander’s wife had changed something fundamental inside me.

“Perfect,” he finished, and there was something in his voice that told me he was feeling the same reluctance to return to our complicated world.

“Let’s stay on the beach a little longer,” I suggested. “Maybe we can catch the sunset.”

“I don’t want to tender back to The Lucy in the dark, Krystina. It’s not safe. We can stay for a bit, but can’t be on the beach when it dips below the horizon. You’ll have to see the sunset from the main deck.”

“Fair enough.”

Determined to make the most of our final evening on the beach, I quickened my pace toward the dinghy.

I had a surprise planned—a small celebration to mark the end of our honeymoon, even though I knew Alexander preferred to be the one making such arrangements.

The risk of his displeasure only added to the excitement thrumming through my veins.

Reaching into one of the boat’s storage compartments, I retrieved the beach blanket I’d hidden there earlier, along with a small Bluetooth speaker I’d managed to smuggle from the yacht.

With a mischievous grin, I picked up my phone and selected a song from one of Alexander’s playlists.

Rihanna’s “Only Girl” burst to life. The pounding beat and sultry vocals rolled out over the sand, bold and unapologetic.

As the chorus swelled into Want you to make me feel, like I’m the only girl in the world , my chest tightened.

The lyrics weren’t just music. They were everything I felt in that moment.

That was what Alexander did to me. No matter the chaos of his world, no matter the shadows of his past, he made me feel like the center of it all—his focus, his possession, his everything.

And here on this beach, I wanted to give that same feeling back to him.

“Alex, can you grab the cooler?”

When he didn’t immediately respond, I turned to find him standing motionless, one dark eyebrow raised in an expression I knew all too well.

The cooler already sat open beside him, revealing the champagne bottle and crystal flutes I’d carefully packed that morning.

His hands held the evidence of my unauthorized planning, and the set of his jaw told me I was in for exactly the kind of trouble I’d been hoping for.

“Planned ahead, did you?” His voice carried that edge of authority that never failed to make my knees weak. I could already see the heat burning in his sapphire eyes beneath the stern facade.

“Perhaps,” I replied with deliberate coyness, turning my back to him as I began spreading the blanket across the white sand.

I could feel his gaze tracking my every movement.

I made sure to bend just a little more than necessary, giving him a full view of my thong bikini, knowing exactly how the gesture would affect him.

I’d barely had time to smooth the blanket’s corners when I felt his arm snake around my waist with predatory swiftness.

He pulled me back against the solid wall of his chest, and I could feel the heat radiating from his skin through the thin fabric of his linen shirt.

His lips found my ear, his breath sending shivers cascading down my spine.

“Did you forget who makes the decisions here, Mrs. Stone?” The question was asked in that low, dominant tone that made my core clench with anticipation. “Did you forget that everything—every plan, every surprise, every moment of pleasure—belongs to me?”

The reminder of our dynamic sent heat pooling low in my belly.

There was a time in our relationship when I would have challenged his stern reminder, but I was a fast learner.

This was all part of the game with my dominant husband—and the reward for playing was always worth it.

I’d learned to crave his control, to find deep satisfaction in surrendering my independence to his capable hands.

“I haven’t forgotten,” I whispered.