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Her eyes were scratchy, her mind exhausted.
Jack.
Her sigh perforated the silence, slitting her stomach with worry and doubt.
Some people were easy to worry about. They had problems that could be understood and therefore reliably navigated. With Jack it was like a dark cloud of uncertainty all the time. Wrong turns abounded. Since they were children he’d been that way. Not a naughty child, and certainly not unkind. Just worrisome and vulnerable. He’d made poor decisions, bad friends, worse choices.
And now, at twenty-four, he was still making those bad choices.
Only the stakes were much, much higher.
She shook her head, tilting her head towards the window and staring out at the sea. The day was breaking, the sun’s yolk spreading across the sky in a fog of orange and peach.
He’d be okay. She’d make sure of it.
Having paid off his debts to whoever the hell this mobster was, she wanted to believe Jack was out of trouble for good. But that wasn’t guaranteed.
She stood slowly, planting her feet against the tiled floor, her eyes not leaving the view.
What time was it?
She crept closer and then pushed the window open slowly, carefully, not wanting to wake Rio. A hint of the night’s cool brushed her cheeks, kissing them pink. She breathed in deeply, catching the tang of salt and smiling despite her nightmares.
It was early and the house was silent.
She lifted her shoes off the floor and padded barefoot from her bedroom, then tiptoed down the hallway. The front door to the cabin was unlocked. She pushed it outwards and her smile widened as she emerged onto the deck. The steps were covered in sand; it felt ice-cold beneath her bare feet. She paused to slip her shoes on and then thought better of it, tossing them to the ground and walking away from the house.
The wind was decidedly brisk. She wrapped her arms around her waist as she walked, her eyes focussed on the dawning day.
The island was stunning. It almost beggared belief to find such a piece of untouched paradise in this day and age.
It wouldn’t be untouched for long, though. Her lips shifted, a small frown dragging down her mouth at one side. Would the island still resonate with magic and mystery when buildings crowded it? When a cable ran across the volcano, allowing tourists to spy into the cavernous top and see its secrets?
Her frown deepened. And how could Rio care so little about what happened to this place? Why had he bought it? And why was he selling it so quickly? He was a businessman, and he’d made a career out of preserving beautiful buildings that were in jeopardy. Surely he felt the same about nature.
Was it possible that he really didn’t care what happened to Prim’amore?
She stopped walking and stared out to sea as the breeze pushed past her, lifting her dark red hair and whipping it into the air behind her. She wanted answers. Not because it would change a damned thing. Art would still buy the island and do what he wanted; and Rio would sell. She didn’t think she had a chance to change their minds. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t ask questions. Curiosity was alive inside her, begging for release.
* * *
Her hair was a flame. It shifted with the wind, creating contrast with her pale skin. He stared out at her, transfixed. The morning sun was bathing her with its buttery light and she looked soft and sweet.
Sweet.
Hardly a word he’d thought would ever apply to Cressida Wyndham.
He watched as she swooped down and lifted some sand into her fingers, then spread them wide to let it sprinkle on the ground like billions of pieces of confetti. Even at this distance he could see her smile and the way it shone across her face.
Her eyes shifted, moving towards the cottage, and despite the fact he was looking through a window, he moved away. The impulse to hide made him laugh.
Rio Mastrangelo didn’t run from anyone.
With a guttural sound of impatience he stalked out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, pressing a pod into the coffee machine and watching the thick, dark liquid pool into a mug. He paused it mid-flow, needing just a hit of caffeine and the taste of something other than desire to warm his gut.
So she was beautiful. Stunning. Sexy. That he had expected. But, knowing what he did about her lifestyle, he’d thought her charms would hold little appeal.
That belief had been scuppered by a hard-on he’d been grappling with since they’d swum together yesterday. Since she’d turned her back and waited for him to clip her bikini in place. Her skin had been so smooth beneath his hands. How he’d wanted to reach around and cup her breasts, to stroke her nipples and ease her backwards against him so that he could trace kisses along her neck.
