Page 79 of Shipwrecked

“I forgive you.”

A flash of lightning splits the sky, illuminating everything in a blinding pulse. It’s followed by thunder so loud my hands fly to my ears. Rain pours from the heavens.

“Run!” Cillian grabs my hand and takes off.

It’s a lost cause. We crash into the hut, soaked to the skin. Everything in our bags is likely drenched too.

“You guys took so long,” Mathieu complains.

“Cillian got bitten by a snake.”

It’s dark in the hut. I’m glad we didn’t go to the trouble of lighting a fire outside because it would be out again already. I have a feeling even Seán’s fire won’t survive this downpour. It’s like a shower turned up to full blast.

“I’m already wet. Might as well take advantage.” I blindly dig through my bag for my bottles of soap. “Washing in the ocean is such a pain, and I’d like to not have salty, crusty hair for a change.”

“I’ll join you,” Mathieu agrees. “Cillian?”

“Sounds good.”

We all undress in the hut, hanging the clothes up on the walls so they can dry. It’s so humid I doubt they’ll dry until the sun rises tomorrow, but better than leaving them tossed in a corner to start smelling like mildew.

We step outside the treeline. Clouds blot out the moon and stars, so we’re just three black shapes. I can tell who is who because Cillian is a bigger shadow, but there are no distinguishable features.

I’m still aware of all our nakedness as I soap down my chest. As my fingers lather soap over my nipple, it feels hypersensitive.

I tip my head back, washing the shampoo from my hair. Lightning splits the sky. Its after-image dominates my vision for minutes afterwards.

“Can you do my back?” Mathieu asks.

The rain nearly swallows his voice. I turn in his direction, but he wasn’t asking me. Their shadows are conjoined. I blindly approach, my hands out. I find Mathieu’s arm, and follow it until I find Cillian’s large hands kneading his shoulders.

Mathieu is leaning his entire weight into Cillian, making sounds of enjoyment. I smile. I rest my hand on the back of Cillian’s, laying my fingers over his. Despite the pounding rain, his skin is hot. Through touch, I feel the way he’s giving the massage, and I learn. After a few minutes, I find the bottle of body wash, pour some out, and repeat the movements, but on Cillian’s back.

I begin at his shoulders, rubbing circles until the body wash lathers, then move my hands down the broad planes of his back. I go lightly over bone—his spine and shoulder blades—and work my thumbs into the thick muscles on either side of his spine. It’s deeply satisfying to feel tense muscles relax under my touch. I keep going until my fingers cramp, and when I stop, Cillian turns to me.

Cups my face in warm, engulfing hands. Kisses me softly.

“Come on,” Mathieu says, raising his voice to be heard over the pounding rain. “We’re all shivering.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Cillian

We use our clothes to dry ourselves. Teeth chattering, Mathieu dives under the sheet with an exaggerated whimper and “Cold,” complaint. I almost echo the complaint and the whimper. It’s the coldest night we’ve had on the island.

Jules follows, urging Mathieu into the middle of the bed. I take the last available space. Mathieu grabs my leg, pulling me over him. I huff. A few words float to the top of my mind, supplying endings to Jules’s cut-off sentence earlier about Mathieu. He’s so, so… Bold. Bratty. Cheeky. Cute—in the sly sense. Perhaps in the other sense too. Sweet as sin. Sunshine in a bottle.

I hook my arm around his waist and tuck him flush against my body. “Better?”

He burrows his feet between my calves, and I flinch at the shock of cold.

“You’re lovely and warm,” Mathieu confirms.

Jules plasters himself against Mathieu, hugging him from the front. His hands end up on my side.

“When we’re rescued, let’s take a hot shower together,” Mathieu suggests, teeth chattering. “And everyone gets an hour-long massage.”

“Agreed,” Jules says.