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Chapter 8
‘Are you not interested in me that way anymore?’
Sinking my nails into the meat of my thighs, I mentally berate myself for letting the question slip from my lips.
My mind was too hazy, partly from the orgasm I’d had less than a half hour before and partly because the cabin was starting to feel like a coffin, and suddenly the question barreled off my tongue and hurled itself in his direction.
As if sleeping with Kal Anderson is the single most important thing in the universe.
True, I’ve thought of very little else in the weeks since he tore through my virginity, but still. Given the absolute chaos of the last twenty-four hours, the complete upheaval of life as I once knew it, sex should be the last thing I’m worried about.
I should be glad he doesn’t want that from me. It should make me feel strong, like he’s letting me keep the only bargaining chip I’ve ever had.
And yet, as I glance at him from my end of the black sedan we were ushered into after dismounting the jet, that familiar ache spreads from my pussy outward, flowing through my veins like it belongs there.
And all I feel is unwanted.
He’s practically glued to his door, his suit jacket folded on the seat between us. The sleeves of his black button-down are flipped up to mid-forearm, revealing corded muscles and more bronzed skin than I’ve ever seen from him.
Scrolling through his phone with the pad of one thumb, he strokes at the underside of his stubbly jaw with the other. The screen shifts so quickly, it’s hard for me to imagine he’s even processing any of the information.
Pursing my lips, I bend down and feel around in my backpack for my phone, coming up empty. I turn my head, brushing my hair out of my face, my mouth falling open to ask where he put it.
“A liability,” he says before I’ve even uttered a word, and without sparing me a glance. “When we’re home, I’ll get you set up with a new device.”
Home. Smoothing my hands over the soft material of my leggings, I look out the tinted window as the green-blue terrain of wherever we landed whips past. The ocean stretches out just beyond the treetop horizon, although I’m unsure if that means we’re still mainland.
“Where exactly is home?” I ask.
“Aplana Island, though natives just call it Aplana. It’s just outside the Boston Harbor Islands.”
“Never heard of it,” I say, my finger pressing a button that inches the window down.
It whirs as it descends, the sound puncturing the silence around us, stirring a calmness in my gut I haven’t felt since I walked into Mateo’s bedroom. Up and down, I repeat the motion, mesmerizing myself with it.
From the corner of my eye, I see Kal shift in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs as if he can’t quite get comfortable. His left hand comes down to grip just above his knee, squeezing until the veins strain against his skin, his throat bobbing repeatedly as he swallows over and over.
I wonder if he’s having second thoughts about all of this—marrying me, fucking me, stealing me from Boston. Is it possible the bad doctor didn’t quite know what he was getting himself into when he stepped in as my knight in not-so-shiny armor?
Before I have a chance to ask if it’s too late for an annulment, Kal’s hand lashes out, covering mine just as salty air blasts my face; he pries my finger away, returning the window back to its original closed position, labored breaths tearing from his chest.
Tipping my chin up, I note the tightness around his eyes and the shrinkage of his pupils. He looks savage, like a monster come to life in dire need of his pound of flesh, and it steals the oxygen from my lungs for the briefest of seconds.
Not because I’m afraid, though.
Because I like it.
The chaos in his eyes sucks me in like an undercurrent, pulling me deeper into his dangerous waters.
For a moment, I’d rather drown in them than resurface.
A lump materializes in my throat, and I swallow over it. My heart skitters inside my chest, that cinnamon and whiskey scent I spent weeks trying to forget assaulting me as he looms over my body. His gaze skirts along the edges of my face, madness lighting his features and keeping him distant.
Gripping the doorframe, he blows out a long, low breath, his chest rising sharply with the action. Blinking rapidly, he seems to snap back into his normal state of being, dark brown eyes meeting mine as the pupils correct themselves.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice barely audible, unsure of what’s just happened and not wanting to set him off again.
“Fine. Just... don’t roll your window down.”
