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He let out a low chuckle. “Well, there is that.”
She grinned, ducked her head, and brushed wet hair from her face. “I guess we should head back to the recep—”
The night lit up a split second before thunder cracked. Zeta clapped her hands to her ears and hunched her shoulders.
He destroyed the small space between them and wrapped her in his arms, fighting to stay balanced as the rising creek slammed into his legs. “It’s okay.”
“I’m not good with storms,” she mumbled, almost—almost—turning into his chest. God, he wanted her to. He wanted to know she felt safe in his arms, that he was a safe place for her.
Wait, what? What this thing is between you both is purely sexual, right? Not emotional. Just carnal. Right?
She pulled away a little, her smile wobbly. “We should get back.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
Just sex, Mick. That’s all it’s going to be. That’s all it could be. Just sex.
Nevertheless, he took her hand in a gentle grip, a warm happiness spreading through him as she threaded her fingers through his.
No, no. You don’t like her. She doesn’t like you. It was just going to be fucking. Remember that.
But the only thing he wanted to remember was how incredible kissing her was. How amazing holding her to his body was.
“C’mon,” he murmured, sloshing his way out of the flooding creek.
Fresh lightning and thunder rocked the sky overhead, and Zeta’s fingers squeezed his. Then the first tiny ball of hail struck and hit him on the head. Followed by another. And another.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he shouted, throwing his arm up over Zeta’s head as hail rained down.
“Come to Australia, they said,” Zeta yelled. “It’ll be wonderful, they—Ouch!” She winced, wrapping her arms around her head.
“We gotta get inside,” he yelled, shucking off his suit jacket and throwing it over her head. “My cabin’s closer.”
“Yourwhat?” she yelled back. At least, he thought that’s she yelled. The roar of hail and rain smashing down into the trees filled the air.
“My— ah, shit, just trust me, okay?” He snagged one of her wrists and started running along the path again. His cabin, the one he’d booked for the next two nights, was situated amongst the lush gardens of the resort off the path leading to the beach. He’d passed the private path when he’d come looking for Zeta. No doubt she had as well, although she probably hadn’t noticed it. If you didn’t know it was there, you would miss it, hidden as it was by palms and ferns and all types of trees and bushes and flowery plants. He’d gotten lost trying to find it when he’d first arrived.
The resort described it as “private and exclusive luxury”. He distinctly remembered thinking when he’d booked it, that if he had to put up with Zeta De Luca for the event, he was going to treat himself to some “private and exclusive luxury” when he needed to get away from her.
Ha. And now here he was taking her to it.
Irony had a weird sense of humor.
The hail pelted down harder. So did the rain. A war of extreme weather.
He increased his speed, holding her wrist, no herhand. Her fingers were linked with his again. “This way,” he threw over his shoulder, swerving off the main path onto what he hoped to hell was the path to his cabin. It was so fucking dark.
Zeta swore behind him, both in English and Italian.
Something large and blocky and dark loomed right in front of them, and he almost slammed into the front door of his cabin.
“What?” Zeta stumbled to a halt beside him, his jacket a sodden shield on her head.
He dug his hand into his hip pocket, ignoring his phone—most likely dead now with how saturated and full of water his pocket was—and pulled out the cabin’s key.
A good, old-fashion key.
He’d snorted at its quaintness when he’d checked in. He thanked fuck now the resort had embraced its rustic theme, given there wasn’t a single light to be seen anywhere, and the chances were the whole resort had lost power.
