Page 11 of Her Outlaw Prisoner (Vanishing With the Rebel #1)

Hannah (Ellie)

One Year Later

The sun is lazy today.

A dark orange ball, spilling over the water like melted honey. Gentle waves float to the shore, the tide calm and slow, like everything else on this island.

Thailand feels like a dream I never want to wake up from.

I lie back against my towel, digging my toes into the warm, powdery sand, watching the silhouette of a man I love more than life itself walk out of the ocean like he owns it.

He’s shirtless, board in one hand, black hair wet and long around his face, and the tattoos and scars on his chest—God, his chest—are glistening with water and sunshine.

My husband.

My Craig.

Even after twelve months together, it still feels a little surreal calling him that…

as does answering to the name Hannah. One year ago, hiding behind our new identities, we exchanged quiet vows in a tiny candlelit church on a hill, just days after we arrived on the island.

Just us, two fake names, and two very real hearts.

To the rest of the world, Ronan died in a tragic boat accident. Drowned trying to escape from the law, or so the news said. Burned wreckage, no body recovered.

To them, he’s gone.

To me, he’s here.

More alive than he’s ever been.

He drops the surfboard onto the sand and strolls toward me, wet hair dripping onto his tanned shoulders.

He looks different now. More…free. More at peace.

His body’s changed too—more muscled, stronger.

His beard is fuller, the scruff wild around that sinful mouth of his.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s some rogue surfer god sent here to torment me.

He crouches beside me, all smug, sexy grin. “You checking me out again, Mrs. Walker?”

I smirk, tilting my sunglasses down to look at him. “You make it impossible not to.”

He leans in close, water droplets falling from his hair onto my chest. “I live to distract you.”

“You succeed,” I breathe.

And then he kisses me.

Not a sweet peck. Not a casual, married-for-a-year kind of kiss.

No, this is the kind that curls my toes and makes the sand feel like it’s melting beneath me. His mouth moves over mine like he’s starving. His hand slides under the edge of my bikini, finding the dip of my waist, pulling me closer as he groans against my lips.

“Ronan,” I whisper between kisses, and then quickly correct myself. “Craig—”

His lips twitch. “You only call me that when you’re trying to behave.”

“Because someone has to,” I murmur, breathless. “Anyone could walk up on us.”

He shrugs and leans over me further, blocking the sun with his body. “That’s part of the thrill.”

I laugh against his mouth, but he swallows it with another kiss, this one deeper. Slower. His hands are bold, slipping beneath the thin fabric of my bikini top, palms warm from the sun as they explore what’s always been his.

“Someone really could see us,” I protest again, though my fingers are already threading through his hair.

“And I really don’t care.”

That’s the thing about Ronan—he makes you forget where the world ends and where he begins. One year of living in paradise with him, and I’ve learned to let go. Of fear. Of shame. Of the weight I used to carry in every breath.

We’re no longer Ellie and Ronan.

We’re Hannah and Craig Walker—two ordinary people who own a quiet little villa by the ocean. A normal couple.

The thought never fails to amuse me. Because we are anything but ordinary.

He kisses down my neck, nipping at the skin as he slides his hand lower, between us, and I gasp, biting my lip.

“Still shy?” he whispers, voice low and sinful.

“Still feral?” I shoot back, my voice wavering slightly.

He smirks, eyes dark with mischief. “Always. Especially when you’re laid out like this, looking like my personal fantasy.”

I grip his arm, my heart racing under his touch. “We’re literally in public, Craig.”

“In paradise,” he corrects, dragging his mouth along the line of my jaw. “And on a beach no one else comes to at this hour.”

“Doesn’t make it legal.”

“Neither is what I did a year ago,” he murmurs, slipping his hand beneath the string at my hip, “but here we are.”

That shuts me up.

Because it’s true. He risked it all for me. And I’d do the same for him. Over and over again.

I arch into him, the sand cool under my back, his body hot and relentless above mine.

“I love you,” I whisper.

His lips pause against my collarbone. He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes soft, wild, and full of everything I’ve ever wanted.

“I love you more,” he says. “Forever.”

His mouth is on mine again before I can say another word, hungry, claiming, familiar in all the ways that make my skin burn and my heart ache. His fingers slide beneath the strap of my bikini bottom, tugging it down just enough to make me gasp.

“Ronan,” I breathe, but it comes out more like a moan. In moments like these, when we’re alone in our own world, our souls bare and vulnerable…I still call him that. Because despite everything that happened, I never want us to forget who we really are, the essence of our existence.

“Say it again,” he growls against my mouth, tongue sliding past my lips with slow precision.

“Ronan…”

“I’ll never get tired of hearing you say my name like that.”

My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly as his hand cups the back of my thigh, guiding my leg around his waist. The friction between us is unbearable. Every part of me is on fire. I can feel him, hard and thick through his swim trunks, pressing into my center like he belongs there.

God, he does.

“No one’s around,” he murmurs against my neck, his voice deep, rough, thick with need. “I want to have you right here, baby. In the sun. On this beach. I need to feel you.”

“Someone might come,” I protest weakly, even as my hips rise to meet his.

“Let them.”

He tugs one triangle of my bikini top down and takes a pebbled nipple into his mouth, sucking until I cry out. My back arches off the towel, sand sticking to my skin as he devours me like a starving man.

His hand slides between my legs, fingers pushing aside the soaked scrap of fabric. He touches me with slow reverence, rubbing lazy circles that make my thighs tremble.

“So wet for me already,” he whispers. “You always are. You were made for me, weren’t you?”

I nod, biting my lip, my whole body trembling beneath him. “Yes.”

He slides one finger inside me, then two, curling them in just the right spot while his mouth trails hot kisses down my stomach. My hands clutch the towel, the sand, him—anything I can hold on to while he pulls me apart.

“I want you inside me,” I gasp. “Now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

In a flurry of wet fabric and breathless laughter, he frees himself from his trunks, his thick length brushing against my thigh before he positions himself at my entrance. He pauses, just enough to look at me, really look, like I’m the sun and the sea and his salvation all at once.

“I love you,” he says again, softer this time.

“I love you more.”

Then he pushes into me, slow and deep, stretching me in a way that feels like home. I moan, the sound carried off by the waves. He starts to move, dragging out every thrust, every grind, like he wants to memorize how I feel around him. Like he’s never letting me go again.

My hands roam his back, his shoulders, his jaw. I kiss him like I’m drowning, and he fucks me like he’s the only one who can bring me back to life.

And maybe he is.

The heat builds fast, tight and demanding in my belly. His name tumbles from my lips in broken gasps, my body shaking as I get closer and closer.

“Come for me, Eleanor,” he pants against my ear. “Let me feel it. Give it to me.”

I break with a cry, my body tightening around him as waves crash in the distance, echoing my release. He groans, low and guttural, and follows me seconds later, burying himself deep as he spills inside me.

We stay tangled together for a moment, panting and slick with sweat, still connected. Still us.

When he finally collapses beside me, he pulls me into his arms, kissing my shoulder with a satisfied hum. “You’re everything.”

I smile, tracing circles on his chest. “We’re everything.”

The breeze cools my skin, but I’m warm…so warm in his arms. My head rests against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Still strong. Still here.

His fingers lazily trace patterns on my bare back. He hums a low tune, something sweet and off-key, and I smile into his skin.

“Hey,” I say softly.

“Mmm?”

“I need to tell you something.”

He shifts so he can see me better, his gaze instantly alert. “You okay?”

I nod, but my throat tightens. I sit up slightly, my hand splayed over my belly. It’s flat for now, but not for long. “I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure. But I am now.”

His brows furrow. “Sure of what?”

I take a breath, smile, and let it spill. “I’m pregnant.”

He blinks. Once. Twice. His whole body goes still.

“Pregnant?” he echoes.

“Yes,” I whisper. “We’re going to have a baby.”

Suddenly, his whole face lights up with a smile that threatens to split his face. His hand flies to my stomach, covering mine, his eyes wide and glistening.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “We’re having a baby.”

I nod, and he lets out a disbelieving laugh, filled with so much awe it cracks something inside me.

He sits up, cups my face in both hands, and kisses me fiercely, yet so gently. “You’ve just made me the happiest man alive.”

Tears sting my eyes. “You’re not scared?”

“I’m terrified.” He grins. “But also excited as hell.”

His hand returns to my belly, thumb stroking softly like he’s already bonding with our baby. “They’re going to have your smile,” he murmurs. “And your fire. God, I hope they have your fire.”

“Or your stubbornness,” I tease, leaning into his palm.

“Either way,” he says, voice thick with emotion, “they’re going to be so loved. Protected. Safe.”

I nod, letting myself believe it…really believe it. “We made it.”

“We did,” he whispers. “And now we’ve got forever.”

He pulls me into his arms again, holding me like I’m the most precious thing in the world. And I guess…I am. To him. Just like he is to me.

Our life isn’t perfect.

But it’s ours.

And now, it’s about to get even better.

~The End