Page 38 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows (Runaway Prince Hotel #5)
Ash
Smiling at my parents in the distance, I can’t wait to hug them. My heart swells and aches at the same time.
Why do I feel so conflicted?
I love my parents and I’ve missed them. So damn much!
Drowsy, a piece of the puzzle snaps into place. Why are they here? It’s been eight excruciating years.
A migraine slams my muddled brain. I instinctively invite the pain, although it’s not the kind I am familiar with. Still, it’ll help me cope with the situation. All that matters is seeing my beloved parents.
The last time that we hugged, they were departing for the airport and leaving me home alone for the first time at seventeen.
Only it didn’t turn out the way that I’d hoped.
No hookup with the hot, popular Benjamin Williamson.
No alone time to do whatever I wanted. No future in Loomis in Northern California.
Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink …
Coleridge’s poem resonates in my numb head.
Water . I’m sure that the die-hard metalhead that Benjamin was would argue that these were originally Iron Maiden lyrics.
Water . The nerdy student that I was knew better and wanted nothing more than to teach him.
Everywhere . Yeah, despite my lack of actual experience, we all knew that my straight-A report cards were the only straight thing about me, and my parents were okay with it.
Why is my high school crush popping up in my muddled mind? Reality? Nightmare? Coma? Nah…
“Mmmphfff…” Coming up for air, I flash back to the insignificant wave that plunged me underwater while I searched for my surfboard in a panic. Was that seconds ago? Minutes? Hours?
Nah, I would have died if…
The fleeting thought drags me back to my parents. My dead parents.
Wait, what?
Frantically flapping my arms to rise to the surface, my body craves oxygen and my heart races. Desperately trying to keep my head above the waves has drained me. The darkness beneath my increasingly heavy feet is calling to me. There’s a strange appeal in the abyss.
Wait, I’m not ready. I may be delusional, but what’s left of my coherent brain knows that much!
When I was about eight years old, I constantly asked my parents what it felt like to cross the Styx.
(Yeah, yeah, I was a Greek mythology nerd back then; sue me!) I would scare the shit out of them when I held my breath for inordinate amounts of time, pretending.
By the age of ten, I’d read every article about the most painful ways to die.
I guess they figured I’d end up goth or emo.
They admitted their surprise that I turned out to be a bibliophile with an appetite for learning words only used during Scrabble and spelling bees.
My gayness was the icing on the cake at an age when everyone feels inadequate and all you want is to blend in.
Thankfully, Benjamin’s popularity as a star quarterback and his unwavering support as my next-door neighbor opened doors in my social life.
We shared many secrets, including stolen kisses hidden behind closed doors.
Our pressing need to take this friends-with-too-few-benefits relationship further was cut short after my parents’ plane crashed and I moved in with Uncle Brad, Aunt Marta, and their three children in LA.
Why’s my mind drifting when my body should be fighting for survival?
With that, I spin my head and notice that my parents are nowhere to be found. I’m too out of it to decide if that’s a good sign. Surely, the disappearance of the hallucination means that I’m okay, right? Unless I am…
Noooo… is my last thought before I black out and the Indian Ocean welcomes me at last.
Hours. Minutes. Seconds. In the blink of an eye, I feel a band of pressure around my spineless body.
No coherent thoughts form. I’m just a puddle of sensations, both numb and haywire.
My skin awakens against the warmth that surrounds it.
I can’t make heads or tails of what’s happening and conk out again.
Comforting. Soft. Inviting. “Mmm…” Floating in a haze, my puffy eyes refuse to open, so I let the blissful sensation flood me. Are my toes twitching or what? Is my face warming up or what? Is my dick getting hard or what?
I grunt when my chest is compressed repeatedly.
What’s going on?
I fidget under the delicious tickling that teases my neck and cheeks, too groggy to voice my irritation. I never would anyway; it’s not my style. Complaining isn’t an option when perfect lips mold with mine. I’m enjoying the experience while I slowly recover.
What’s going on?
I gradually gain consciousness and feel myself being turned to the side as I cough up water.
Then, I’m gently lowered to the ground and gasp several times, getting reacquainted with the salty air of the already blazing Balinese morning.
And here, I assumed that the morning waves would be less intense!
I’m an experienced surfer and lost my focus nonetheless.
What’s going on?
Inwardly scolding myself, I lie on the beach and grunt at the pain that overwhelms my body.
Grains of wet sand cling to every inch of my hair and body.
With each breath, I’m reminded I nearly didn’t make it out alive.
On my first visit to Canggu’s infamous Echo Beach.
On my second attempt to tame the water. On the third day of our late June vacation.
Overwhelmed, I shake my head and pop my eyes open to take in my surroundings.
High-pitched screeches. Small crowd. Hypnotic eyes.
Getting lost in them sounds much more appealing than being stuck in the near-death limbo I just experienced.
Irises the color of honey circled by a ring of dark grey scrutinize my exhausted body.
Kneeling beside me, the guy’s nearness unsettles me. The drumming of my heart is evidence enough. If I weren’t in such a pitiful state, I’d chuckle at the sight of his dreadlocks caressing my skin.
Our faces are so close that I could easily capture his mouth and steal a kiss. I shiver at the enticing thought, but I’m way too drained to act on it. My upper lip trembles as the beautiful stranger’s face exits my personal space.
Am I delusional?
It all comes crashing back. His strong arms. His powerful body.
His sinful lips… or his upper lip rather.
He saved my life. The second that plump lip came into contact with mine and electrified my slack body.
The minute that blessed lip touched mine and gave rescue breaths while he performed CPR.
The moment that magical lip brought me back to life.
My head lolls to the side at the realization, further grinding the sand into my wavy dirty blond hair, which is now dirtier after spending too much time glued to the sand.
Who cares? I’m alive!
I have so many questions for him. What happened? What made him come to the rescue of a complete stranger? What about him puts me at ease… and not? I should pace myself. Otherwise, this will devolve into Twenty Questions, and I doubt he’s prepared for my nerve-induced babbling.
A round of applause assaults my ears that are less muffled than they were an instant ago.
“Were you Poseidon in another lifetime, Nino?” a feminine voice inquires in English.
A low rumble leaves my savior’s mouth, and despite my stupor, I make a mental note of his name… and other attributes. Broad shoulders. Sculpted abs. Breathtaking face.
Speaking of breathtaking, I take a shaky breath, relieved that the burning in my lungs has diminished. I wonder if my state is due to what happened in the water or my first encounter with the caramel-skinned merman with pale amber eyes with flecks of sea-glass green.
“ ?a va , timal ?” His husky voice sends tingles to all the right places, although I only understand his intonation, implying a question. My brow knits. “ Désolé .” He winces and switches to English. “You okay?”
Incapable of caring that my semi is on full display, I reassure the stranger to whom I owe my life. “I’ll be fine.” My disoriented body is roaring back to life; surely it has nothing to do with the guy staring at me with concern written all over his face.
Why is he using a nickname for me? What does it mean?
He grabs a nearby towel and slides it behind my head as I nod, doing my best to grin at the scantily-clad all-female crowd.
I’m definitely not dead; my version of Heaven would include hot men, not their female counterparts.
Well, I shouldn’t complain. Even my gradual recovery can’t prevent me from noting that my savior is to my liking.
Guilt overwhelms me as soon as the thought crosses my mind.
Granted, being saved by anyone is a treat, but finding your rescuer attractive is the perfect perk!
I’m simply stating a fact: Nino is hot and I dare anybody to refute that.
Once I’m done lusting over a man that I’ll never have, since I’m otherwise attached and he might be straight, I blink to break free from my reverie.
Did the traumatic experience make me horny?
“You were so brave, Nino. Did you hear us cheering you on?” The redhead juts her chin my way. Her British accent is unmistakable, as is her attraction to him, although he seems immune to his harem.
Nino looks her way, breaking eye contact.
“Yeah, thanks, Bridget. I couldn’t have done it without you ladies.
” His English is flawless. From where I’m lying, I have the perfect vantage point to watch his stare quickly flicker between the six gorgeous women.
“Let’s take a half-hour break and give our friend here some privacy.
” Without another word, the girls scatter.
Who are these people who appear to have stepped straight out of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition?
It’s too early for tourists, for which I’m grateful.
I would have hated to be the center of attention on a crowded beach.
His intense stare cages my greyish-blue eyes. “How are you feeling?”
Heat settles in the back of my neck, and I swallow the lump in my throat.
“I’m okay… I think.” My voice sounds hoarse—a stark contrast to my boyish looks.
“Thank you, Nino.” He narrows his gaze, shooting me a funny look, but doesn’t comment.
“It’s the least I can say, don’t you think?
” I shrug. Carefully lifting my upper body to prop myself on my elbows, I feel a bit woozy but remain tight-lipped.
I’m sure it’ll pass. Then, I extend my hand to shake his.
He complies; his handshake is firm yet gentle.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nino. No matter the circumstances. ”
“ Enchanté ; Nino Toussaint,” he offers. “Likewise...” His hesitation tells me that I forgot my manners yet again.
“Ashton Cooper.”