by Monica James
“Wow.” I gasp, unable to mask my surprise. He passes me my rum, which I gratefully accept.
“We have enough water for the time being. But the coconuts will eventually run out. And we can’t rely on the rain.”
“How does a former math professor know all this?” I ask in awe of his knowledge. It’s out before I can stop myself as we haven’t discussed his former occupation since he mentioned it nights ago.
I’m expecting him to clam up, but he doesn’t. He smiles and sits down beside me. “I learned quickly how to fend for myself.”
“Did your new profession teach you that?” I question cautiously.
“Yes, ahгел.”
“Oh.” I sip my drink, unsure what to say as I was expecting him to tell me to mind my own business.
I haven’t breached the Zoey topic. So many times, I wanted to share with him how he called out her name when he was sick, but I didn’t. A part of me is scared to know who she is to him.
“Is Saint your real name?” This verbal diarrhea will get me into trouble, but I blame the rum as it’s given me some Dutch courage.
Saint catches me off guard—again. He laughs. The deep, honeyed sound is toxic. “Yes, my real name is Saint. Why?”
I shrug, cheeks billowed as I swallow down my booze. “I dunno. For someone who sure as hell isn’t saintly, it seems like a weird choice.”
Oh, shit.
Did I say that aloud?
Saint leans back on his hands, a grin tugging at his full lips. “Fair enough.”
“What’s your last name? How old are you?” I can’t help but fire questions at him.
“It’s Hennessy. I’m thirty-three.”
I can imagine all the college girls swooning over their young, attractive professor.
It’s information overload, but the more he shares, the more I want to know. “When is your birthday?”
“November eighteenth.”
“Ahh, Scorpio, that explains a lot,” I reveal, swallowing down my rum. When he waits for me to elaborate, I say, “Part of your psyche resides in a very dark place. You also don’t like people disagreeing with you because you need to be in control. Tick. Tick.” I mimic a giant ticking motion in the air, making Saint smirk.
“But you’re also brave, loyal.” I decide to add because Scorpios are one of the most devoted star signs. “Scorpios are extremely passionate, and when they…fall in love…” I pause as I’m suddenly getting hot. “They are very dedicated and faithful.”
Saint watches me closely, sipping his drink.
I have no idea why I feel the need to share this with him. He doesn’t really seem like the horoscope type. But being able to share this with him is inadvertently telling him how I perceive him.
“And what star sign are you?” he asks, surprising me.
Licking my lips, I answer, “Cancer. My birthday is on June twenty-fourth.”
“So I suppose Cancer and Scorpios are the two signs which constantly argue?” he quips.
I can’t help but laugh. “Actually, no. We are two of the most compatible signs,” I confess, averting my gaze. “It’s been said Cancer can understand the needs of their Scorpio partner to help them express their deepest, darkest emotions in life. When a Scorpio falls in love, trust is the most important thing to them. Cancer just wants someone to share their life with, so they have no reason to lie or cheat.”
“So Cancers are the light, and Scorpios are the darkness?” he questions, which has me lifting my chin slowly.
Locking eyes, I shake my head. “No. They both care too much. They just express that emotion in different ways.” The air suddenly heats, and referring to the signs and not us makes this easier to confess. “They connect emotionally, intellectually, and…physically. Once a bond has been formed…the relationship tends to be long-term.”
Saint seems to ponder everything I just shared.
I’m left dizzy and lightheaded, and it has nothing to do with the rum. Acknowledging this is like looking in the mirror at Saint’s and my relationship. The attraction between us—well, from my end—was instant. He has never lied to me, and when he touched me…my skin blisters at the memory.
I’m drawn to his full lips. They glisten with rum under the moonlight. I wonder what they would taste like. I remember Saint voicing his no kissing rule to the woman he had no qualms fucking. I wonder if this rule would also apply to me?
“And what star sign was your husband?” The mention of Drew has my drunken brain scoffing instead of mourning our bullshit relationship.
“Gemini,” I reply, curling my lip. “Ironically, one of the worst matches with a Cancer. I should have known not to trust him. The Gemini symbol depicts two entities—a perfect reflection of his two-faced nature.”
Saint appears pleased by my response. “Then why did you marry him?”
There isn’t judgment, only curiosity in his question. “Because I wanted to believe in fairy tales. But I should know by now they don’t exist.” I throw back my drink, relishing in the burn as the rum flows down my throat.
When thinking of what Drew did, an anger surfaces as my sadness has now taken a back seat. “That asshole,” I say with a slight slur. I am way past drunk, but I don’t care. “I can’t believe he used me like that. You must think I’m a fucking idiot.”
I have just admitted that I believe Saint. The facts all point to Drew selling me like livestock at a farmers’ market. Covering my eyes, I’m suddenly embarrassed. I can’t believe I fell for his bullshit.
But when Saint’s fingers gently remove my hands so he can look into my eyes, a whimper escapes me. “I don’t think that. Not at all.”
“Then what do you think?” I’m crossing a dangerous line, but I don’t care.
“I think…” He pauses, choosing his words wisely. “You’re the most infuriating woman I have ever met.” Well, I was expecting that response. “You’re also the bravest,” he adds, which has me gasping. This is the second time he’s called me brave.
“I also think you like to see the good in everyone.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” I ask softly, leaning closer to him.
He shakes his head. “Not at all. That takes strength not to give up.”
His voice is smooth, and it’s sensory overload as his signature fragrance lingers between us. Being this close to him, I admire the intensity in his eyes, and the magnetic pull, which bounces between us, lures me toward his supple lips.
I shouldn’t want to kiss them, but…I do. This isn’t the first time this has happened, but unlike then, I don’t think I have the strength to pull away. “Whatever happens”—I close the small distance between us, so we’re inches apart—“know that I will never stop trying to find my way back home.”
The air between us is so thick, I almost can’t breathe.
His gaze never wavers from mine as he murmurs, “I know.”
A quiver rocks me low. Who knew two words could hold so much immoral promise? The world begins to spin, and I know it has nothing to do with the rum and everything to do with Saint—the most potent potion of all.
Everything hits me all at once, and no matter how badly I want him, I can’t forget what he did. Who he is. I need to leave. Yanking backward, I attempt to stand, but thanks to my universe being tipped on its axis, I only end up tumbling forward. On instinct, I reach for the first solid thing within reach, which just happens to be Saint’s bicep.
Memories smash into me of when we first met because just like then, I grabbed him, hoping he could anchor me. “Sorry,” I pant, trying to pull away, but his hand snaps out and overlaps mine.
Peering down at our connection, I try to fight this wickedness within, but when a lopsided smirk tugs at his lips, I am helpless to the temptation. Letting go, I will deal with the self-hate and consequences later, and I surrender…to the darkness.
The moment I press my lips to Saint’s, I know there is no turning back. He freezes, eyes wide, as he’s just as surprised as I am, but he does
n’t pull away. His mouth is warm, soft, and it instantly thaws out the chill to my soul.
I want more. I know he doesn’t like kissing, but I am powerless to stop.
His lips part, and I know he’s about to be the voice of reason, but I don’t want to see reason—I just want to feel. With that roaring to the surface, I move my lips against his, hopeful he feels the magnetism too.
He does.
He groans into my mouth, surrendering, and kisses me so fiercely, I’m propelled backward with the force. Every fiber of my body is on fire, but the sensation only has me shuffling closer, pressing us chest to chest. His tongue fights for domination, but we duel for control because being locked this way unleashes a feral need within me.
I loop my arms around his nape, running my hands through his long hair. We both moan at the connection. He drags me onto his lap, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pressing my core against his enormous erection.
It pleases me to know I affect him just as he affects me.
He pulls away and bites my bottom lip. My eyes roll to the back of my head. He continues devouring my mouth, leaving me breathless as our kisses are soaked in utter passion. He controls the depth, the speed when he loops his fingers around the back of my neck.
I’m helpless and yield because his dominance leaves me slick and wanting more.
His tongue delves in deep, evoking a whimper from me with the slow, hypnotic dance. I can’t get close enough and press my body into his. The barbell in his nipple is hard against me, and for some reason, it stirs my insatiable hunger.
I want to touch him, but I’m terrified. There is something deeper running between us. Something far more powerful than just a physical attraction as emotion drives my actions.
The kiss intensifies, and I tug at his hair, needing to grip onto something as I’m afraid I’ll float away. He groans low as it seems he likes the aggression, which is no surprise. But so do I. His beard scrapes my skin, but the burn adds to the desire, and I angle my head to consume him whole.
With one hand fisted around my hair, he sweeps the other down my body, coming to rest at my waist. He works his way under my tank and begins to stroke along the small of my back. The gentle action combined with his kisses have me mewling and sagging into his touch.
My skin breaks out into tiny goose bumps, and my nipples instantly pebble. I am so turned on, but so is he. I can’t help myself and begin to slowly rock my hips, his hard-on striking me in the most perfect way.
Unable to resist but with a wavering touch, I run my fingertips along his broad shoulders and down his firm arms. He is warm and strong, and being able to touch him so openly feels good. I continue my journey, leaving a heated trail across his chest before I circle his barbell softly.
He hums low, expressing his approval.
My lips are swollen, but I continue kissing him without apology as I make my way down his stomach. His abs feel like granite beneath my fingers, and I have the urge to run my tongue across each ridge.
He suckles my bottom lip and cups my ass, encouraging me to ride him harder. I do.
Things are getting out of hand, but the more I take, the more I want. I don’t know where this is headed, but kissing is suddenly not enough. I make my intentions clear when I reach the top button of his shorts.
I am beyond nervous, but I quash that as I work to unfasten the button. My fingers are trembling, and my heart thrashes wildly against Saint’s. When it finally comes undone, Saint does something which robs me of breath for an entirely different reason.
He pulls away.
“Wh-what are you doing?” I breathlessly pant, my eyes snapping open.
I’m unable to mask my disappointment when he says, “No, ahгел, don’t.”
“Don’t?” I repeat, confused.
He nods and gently untangles us.
I don’t know what to say, so I timidly rearrange my clothes, wondering what I did wrong. He was into it. I know he was. And shamefully, so was I.
“Is it your n-no kissing rule?” I ask as I’m baffled to why he stopped. He arches a confused brow. So I explain. “On the boat, when you…slept with that woman, you told her no kissing.”
He wipes his swollen, luscious lips, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he firmly states, not really giving me an answer.
“Oh.”
Dread overcomes me when his words echo loudly out here in the emptiness. “Unlike everyone else, I don’t want to fuck you.”
Have I misread the signs? I was the one who kissed him first. But who cares? The only thing that matters is that I…kissed him.
Oh, god, I feel sick.
What have I done? I could blame the rum, but I was in total control. I wanted to kiss him, and I thought he wanted to kiss me. Clearly, I was wrong.
I need to leave.
Standing abruptly, I ignore the headrush and turn to flee, but Saint grips my arms and spins me around. “We can’t do that again.”
What a way to rub salt in the wounds.
Ripping from his hold, I squash down my embarrassment and focus on my anger. “I couldn’t agree more. I’m drunk, sorry.”
Lies, but it’s easier than admitting the truth.
“Of course,” Saint says, running his fingers through his snarled hair, the hair which I tugged at moments ago.
“I’m beat. I’m going to sleep.” I’m about to make my way toward the hut, but there is no hut, thanks to Saint’s harebrained idea to destroy it.
“Okay. I’ll be in the cave if you need me.”
We have been sleeping down here around the fire these past few days, but it seems that the kiss has reverted us to rivaling enemies. I don’t fail to see the irony in that.
Saint rocks back on his heels as if he wants to say something, but he changes his mind at the last minute and storms off. I watch his menacing form disappear among the trees. When he’s gone, I sag to my knees, covering my face in utter humiliation.
I don’t know what just happened. The forbidden kiss was hot and intense; it was everything and so much more. But that had nothing to do with the actual kiss itself, and everything to do with the fact that behind each lash of his tongue and caress of his lips, there was something…more.
It wasn’t just physical.
Groaning, I slowly curl myself into a ball by the fire. What the fuck have I done?
Day 26
MY HEAD IS POUNDING, and my mouth is so dry, I wonder if I’ve eaten sand in my sleep.
Even though my eyes are squeezed shut, I know it’s daytime. The blazing sunshine forces me to face what I did in the harsh light of day.
I kissed Saint, and I liked it. I was even tempted to take things further, but he was the one to slam on the brakes. I should be thankful that he did, but I’m not. I’m left with this cloud of confusion hanging over my head, and I hate it.
My feelings for him should be clear cut, but they’re not. They never have been. And now that I’ve kissed him…I’m in way over my head.
And when his fragrance slams into me, sending my body into hyperdrive, I realize just how much so.
“Ahгел, wake up!” The urgency to his tone has me forgetting my woes.
Springing upward, I rub the sleep from my eyes and ignore the throbbing in my temple. “What’s wrong?”
“Look what I found.” He holds up long strands of thick vine while I cock my head to the side, confused. “It’ll be strong enough to use as a rope for the raft.” To emphasize his claims, he yanks at the strands. I’m expecting it to snap in half, but it doesn’t.
“Oh, my god!” I jump up as this is good news. My first instinct is to hug him because I know how hard he’s searched to find something, but I refrain from touching him.
He seems to be in sync with my thoughts as his excitement soon settles. “Sorry to wake you.”
“No, it’s okay. I was awake anyway. I was just prolonging the inevitable.” When his Adam’s apple bobs, I clarify, “Nasty hangover. Do we have any Tylenol left?”
His shoulders visibly depress. It seems he has no interest in discussing what happened last night. His aloofness angers me, but I can’t force him to speak about what we did.
“Yes, I’ll grab some.” He goes to turn, but I stop him dead in his tracks.
“Don’t worry,” I quickly say. “I’ll get it.” I can’t deal with his hot and cold behavior. I need to remember who he is to me, no matter how good a kisser he is.
He seems surprised, but soon recovers and he nods once. “Okay. I’ll be back later. I’ll bring back what I can carry.”
I could offer to help, but I think we both need some alone time.
Making my way to the first-aid kit, I gulp down two painkillers, wishing it would help ease this pain in my heart. Saint’s footsteps announce his departure, only adding to the heartache because he seems happy to pretend last night didn’t happen, so I guess it’s my turn to do the same.
Day 31
BEING STRANDED ON a desert island, you’d think one could enjoy the serenity of being left alone. But the quieter Saint became, the louder my furious thoughts raged.
It’s been five days since we kissed, and although I wasn’t expecting Saint to transform into a cuddly teddy bear, I was expecting we would at least discuss what happened. But it seems he’s content to forget it ever occurred.
I should too, but I can’t. Every time I get within five feet of him, the memory of his lips pressed to mine assaults me.
One thing is certain, however, and that is we’re both eager to get off this island.
Saint was right. The vines he found were strong enough to use as a rope, so we busied ourselves with building our raft. It’s a tough, laborious job, but we’ve got nothing but time. We are close to finishing it, which leaves me with the question yet again, what happens when we do?
We are sitting around the raft, putting our knot tying skills to good use. I’m at one end while Saint is at the other—a perfect analogy to how we co-exist.
