Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68509 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68509 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“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.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Wick
She came down smelling like my coconut soap and lotion, looking fresh and relaxed.
I couldn’t seem to stop my mind from thinking about running my lips and tongue up her skin, of feeling how she’d shiver and writhe, of hearing the soft little moans she’d let out as I…
Fuck.
No.
I couldn’t let my mind go there.
That little tussle-turned-almost-kiss was bad enough.
“I’m surprised you didn’t flood the whole upstairs.”
“Don’t think I wasn’t tempted,” she said, but all the heat was out of her voice as she pulled herself up on one of the island stools. “What did you make?”
“Well, as you can tell, we’re pretty cut off from civilization here. So most of the food around here is shelf-stable. But I managed to throw together some rice, beans, lentils, and enough spices to make all that palatable.”