“Dylan!” I scream, looking around for him, but I don’t see him anywhere.
“Down here,” he calls back. I look down and spot him, his hands holding on to a jagged piece of rock that sticks out from the cliff wall. Hanging on for his life.
“Dylan, hold on!” I yell down to him. Turning around, I race back to the lighthouse, trying to find something, anything, I can use to pull him back up.
Rope. He has to have rope.
There’s nothing outside, so I go back inside the door I just came out of and frantically search the main level of the lighthouse. There’s an old wooden trunk along the wall, and I open it up.
“Thank god,” I cry as I pull out a long, thick cord of rope.
I race back outside and run over to the cliff’s edge, careful not to slip myself as the rocks are wetfrom the waves.How has he managed to hold on? What would he do if I weren’t here?
“I’m going to toss down this rope. I need you to grab onto it, and I’m going to try to pull you up and over, okay?” I call down to him as I let go of the rope and angle it toward where he’s hanging from.
“Can you even lift me? I’ve seen your arms,” he calls back up.
“You better hope so!” God, even when he’s literally hanging from the edge of a cliff, he’s giving me grief. I feel the rope tighten in my grip, and he yells up to me that he’s got it. Saying a silent prayer to who knows, I bend my knees to keep steady and slowly back up, minding the wet spots of rock around me.
“Slow and steady. Slow and steady,” I whisper to myself as I inch backward while gripping the rope. I can’t imagine how torn up my hands must be now. It wants to slip out so badly, but I must have a huge adrenaline rush because somehow, I keep holding on to it, able to back up until, finally, his hands make it to the edge, and he pulls himself the rest of the way up.
“Oof,” he grunts as he stands up and walks toward me.
“Dylan!” Tears are streaming down my sweat-covered face as I rush over to him and wrap my arms around his cold, hard body. He lifts me up and pulls me in so tight I can barely breathe. He’s shaking, and his heart is beating rapidly against my chest. What are the chances that I would arrive at the exact time that he’s fallen and needs help? Help only I seem to be able to bring. It’s kismet.
He keeps holding me, his breathing slowing after a few minutes. Finally, he places me down, and we stand there facing each other, neither of us moving, hearts beating, breath slowing. I’m locked onto his emerald-green eyes. Hebrings his hand up to my face, his lips pressed together in a hard line as he tucks a fallen, sweaty strand of hair away from my face. As he tucks it behind my ear, I bite my lip.
Then, he’s gripping my waist and pulling me closer to him. I find my hands moving up to his long hair and pulling it tight. The strands are wet, and his breath is warm on my face. He smells like mint. He must have just brushed his teeth before coming outside. He leans closer toward me, and I part my lips, meeting his as they lightly brush against mine for the first time.
Sighing, I open my mouth wider, and his tongue finds mine. He pulls me tighter and brings his hands around my back as we kiss like we’re running out of time. Tongues exploring. Breath hitching. Heat rises in my lower belly the deeper and longer we’re glued together.
My brain finally catches up to my heart, and I pull away from him, placing my hands on his chest. “We can’t do this, Dylan.” His mouth twitches to one side, but his eyes stay locked on mine. “I have to talk to you about something.”
He looks down at my hands before answering and takes them in his. “Lucy, you’re bleeding.” I look down, completely forgetting about the rope and how I tore them up pulling him over the cliff.
“It-it’s fine,” I say as the raw pain kicks in. I squeeze them into fists, hoping that will help it die down.
“No, it’s not.” He takes off his jacket and then wraps it around my hands to stop the bleeding. “Let’s get inside and clean you up.”
He starts to lead me back, but I stop him. “Okay, but then we have to talk. Ineedto tell you something.”
“Did you finally come to your senses about what year it is?” There’s that smirk I love. Mischievous and sexy at the same time, always trying to distract me.
“Let’s just go inside,” I say, letting him take my hand and lead us back toward the lighthouse. “You should sit down too. Tell me what happened out there.”
“Okay,” he says as his fingers intertwine with mine, and we go back into the lighthouse.
When we’re inside and up on the second level, he leads me into the kitchen and turns on the tap, washing my hands with warm water and soap to clean them off. Bending down, he opens the cupboard under the sink and pulls out a white first-aid kit filled with bandages, gauze, and ointments.
My hands are mostly just scratched up. Now that they’ve been cleaned and have stopped bleeding, I can see the damage isn’t as bad as we originally thought, though there are a few spots where the cuts run a little deeper. Those are the ones he fixes up for me. The whole thing is quite soothing, to be honest. He flips my hand so the palm is facing up and very gently rubs ointment on the cuts, covering them with bandages. His fingers run along my open palm before I close it and peer up at him.
His teeth are chattering, and his lips have turned from berry stained to blue tinged. I can’t believe I’ve let him stand here and take care of my insignificant little scratches after everything he just went through. I place my hands on the sides of his shoulders.
“Hey, why don’t you go up and have a hot shower? I’ll make coffee. Then we can talk.”
He nods and gives my hand one more light squeeze before heading toward the stairs. ‘I won’t be long,” he says ashe climbs the curved staircase that leads up to the bathroom.
“Take your time. Warm up,” I reply as I walk over to the kitchen to try to figure out how to make this coffee I promised.
