Instead, inexplicably, I find my hand squeezing ever tighter as he leads me toward the tree line. One careful step at a time. Connected in a way I haven’t even begun to understand.
Not quite enemies.
Not yet friends.
Something… indefinable.
The graceful palms that bow like swan necks at the edge of the beach soon yield to a dense canopy of forest. The temperature drops about ten degrees as soon as we step into the shade. I’m glad to give my bare feet a break from the burning sand and my eyes a rest from the glaring sunbeams as we venture a few yards inland. The wild jungle looks untouched by time. It calls to mind images of the Jurassic Period in my old science textbooks — massive ferns, creeping mosses, hanging vines thick as my fist. Every verdant inch teems with life, utterly unmolested by human influence. Devoid of any traces of development.
My heart clenches.
In the most desperate corners of my mind, I was holding out hope that perhaps we’d fortuitously washed ashore just around the bend from a five-star resort, where we’d be welcomed with open arms and free buffet access. In actuality, I suspected otherwise the moment the island came into view.
This place is deserted.
Uncharted.
One square mile at most and, from the looks of it, entirely uninhabited. Just one of a million small atolls that span Polynesia, Micronesia, and Melanesia. Too small for major foreign enterprises, too isolated to lure in local residents. To be sure, there’s a certain dark twist in the knowledge that, had the Flint Group stumbled across it under different circumstances, we might’ve ended up here at some point anyway — Beck taking photographs of potential building sites for Seth’s luxury property, me making sandcastles and exploring tidal pools with Sophie.
Funny, the games fate likes to play with us.
The air here is heavy with moisture. It sings with the persistent buzz of insects, punctuated by the occasional chirp of a songbird in the branches overhead. Thick foliage grows in a riot across the ground. Lizards rustle through the underbrush as we pick a path along; I watch them scurry away on tiny legs, their tails flicking madly.
I bet we’re the first humans they’ve ever seen.
With no path to follow, our pace is glacial. We pick our way through the dense forest, hands still entwined. I keep my eyes on the ground — sharp-edged palm fronds and rough coral rocks are abundant; one misstep could easily puncture the thin skin of my bare feet. I glance at Beck’s boots with a fair amount of envy. He doesn’t notice my discomfort as he tugs me along, focused on forging a way through the thicket.
The farther we venture, the more humid the atmosphere becomes. Each breath feels too-thick inside my lungs. It’s a far cry from the crisp New England air to which I’m accustomed. When we step into a sun-filtered glade of massive elephant ear plants and I spot the beads of condensation collected like glittering diamonds in their leafy boughs, I drop Beck’s hand and rush forward, uncaring whether I tear my feet to shreds in my haste. I’m too desperate to sate my thirst to think about anything else.
Falling to my knees, I fold a leaf larger than my torso into a crude funnel and pour the droplets onto my arid tongue. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. I grab another and slurp it dry, then another and another, until I’ve lost count. I’m sure I’ve drunk from every leaf in the glade when I finally cease feeling like a dried out sponge left too long in the sun.
My senses return one by one as I push to my feet. The unique, earthy smell of the rainforest — dirt and decay, greenery and growth. The gorgeous sight of dappled sunbeams all around me, filtering through the thick canopy above my head. The soothing sound of…
Hacking?
My gaze follows the incongruous noise to Beck. He’s a few dozen feet away, biceps straining as he slices his way through a thick hanging vine with a tiny utility tool blade. I think he’s going to pull a Tarzan and start swinging but when the ropey end falls free, he catches it in one hand and inserts it into the wide mouth of his water bottle, filling it drip by drip. A natural hose.
Smart.
I was so busy sucking down leaf droplets, I didn’t even consider there might be an easier water source hanging right overhead.
Sensing my eyes on him, Beck glances my way. He gives a small start, as if caught off guard by something.
My brows lift.
He clears his throat roughly and lifts the slow-filling bottle. “For Ian.”
I nod and wipe my damp brow before glancing down at myself. I suck in a breath of mild alarm as I realize the humidity has coated my limbs in a thin sheen of sweat and moisture. My dress clings to my body like a second skin, hugging my chest and hips in a way that leaves little to the imagination. With each labored breath, the white crests of my breasts rise and fall too rapidly to ignore, straining against the confines of my neckline. The feeling of two green eyes lingering on my exposed skin only makes my heart pound faster — especially when I look up to meet them.
Even from across the glade, he towers over me. We’ve spent so many hours horizontal in the raft, I’d almost forgotten how tall he is. How powerfully built, even without the benefit of proper sleep or sustenance. How magnetic those eyes can be when they lock on yours, learning your every detail, memorizing your every curve…
We both avert our gazes at the same time.
I cough to break the sudden tension. “We shouldn’t leave Ian for much longer.”
He grunts in agreement.
“We’ll have to drag the raft up to the tree line.”
Another grunt.
I stare at the chipping polish on my toes, still afraid to look at him directly. Now that I know what his hand feels like in mine, my fingers itch to twine once more. The desire is unwelcome, but unshakable. My need for human contact burns violently within me. My fingernails cut crescent moons into my palms as I do my best to curtail it.
“It’ll be dark in a few hours. We need to find somewhere to spend the night together.” My eyes widen as I realize my suggestion, while innocent in intent, has conjured an unexpected question in regard to sleeping arrangements. “I mean we— I didn’t mean together—” With effort, I bite my lip and put an end to my babbling.
His brows arch in amused speculation.
“Shelter. We need to find shelter,” I clarify needlessly, feeling blood rush to my cheeks.
He doesn’t answer.
With a huff, I turn on one heel and stalk back in the direction of the beach without waiting for him. I’m not sure what I expected — another grunt, perhaps, or a chiding remark. Instead, his tone is full of barely-leashed laughter as he calls after me.
“You’re going the wrong way, you know.”
My cheeks blaze ever brighter as I pivot a hundred and eighty degrees. I don’t look at him as I stomp toward the beach, but I can feel his eyes lingering on me the whole way back.
Ass.
Chapter Eight
S P A R K S