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He shattered the anxiety that’d crept down my spine.
He shattered the agony on Sully’s face.
He shattered any response to my untimely death and tentative unfurls of new love.
Sully rocked back on his heels, his hands cupping my knees for purchase.
His touch on my legs and his parrot on my breasts and the weirdness of it all—it mixed with the stress of the past few weeks, the tumbling emotions, the loneliness, the hope, the highs, the lows, the connection…it all went up in a geyser of hilarity.
Laughter spilled from my lips.
Pika squeaked, preening himself while perching very happily in my boobs.
I clamped a hand over my mouth as another peal fell free; afraid I’d offend Sully’s seriousness and make him curse me even more.
But slowly, he took off his sunglasses.
His gaze locked on Pika commandeering my chest.
And the strangest thing happened.
A moment I never would’ve hoped for.
Sully smirked, then smiled…
…then, he laughed.
He laughed as if he hadn’t laughed in decades.
Loud and unhindered, masculine and pure.
It shoved aside his past sins and removed any doubt of his integrity, of who he was inside.
It made my heart burst wide open, straight down the middle—a crack of blood and destiny, drowning in raw terrified love, leaving me in ruins at his feet.
Who would have thought it?
A laugh was what made me fall head over heels for Sullivan Sinclair.
A laugh that Jealousy told me was impossible.
A laugh that spread out over the ocean, clear and wonderful…
…and all mine.
Chapter Twelve
AMONGST THE MANGOS, PINEAPPLES, and every other tropical fruit ever harnessed by mankind, I finally found the ability to breathe again.
Eleanor strolled ahead of me in the huge greenhouse, transfixed by the simple, wholesome world I’d introduced her to. Heat and humidity hugged both of us, turning the tropics into a damn oven.
Her awe when she’d stepped off the boat said she hadn’t expected an operation of this size. Yes, this was an island. And yes, its only purpose was to grow vegetables, fruits, and nuts, but it wasn’t a tiny paddock in the middle of nowhere.
I’d hired the best garden architects from Singapore. Men and women who’d started the revolution of growing enough food hydroponically in skyscrapers, in the middle of the city, to feed the entire globe. They eradicated the need for soil and pesticides. They controlled their environment with certain bugs that starved off leaf disease and minerals in the water to promote the full potential of each and every seed.
As land was scarce in Singapore, they’d gone vertical. Meanwhile, I had the luxury of space, and housed a nursery where all seedlings were grown hydroponically before some were transplanted into different areas on the island.
So far, I’d escorted Eleanor around the vine square where over a hectare of peas in every form shot skyward with their creeper vines. Lavender and honeysuckle dotted between the plants, encouraging insects to visit and pollinate. We’d travelled the huge greenhouses with berries of every description, through the circular terrace where rice and potatoes grew side by side, and past the herb patch where many micro-greens grew in conjunction with sage, mint, and coriander.
Massive pots held overflowing crops of mesclun, baby lettuce, and bok choy, while a roofed patio protected delicate watercress and bean sprouts.
The orchards were next, the manicured rows of almond, hazelnut, and walnut all interlinked and producing bushels of nuts per year. The mandarins, apples, and stone fruits bordered that field, also decorated with pansies, wildflowers, and favourite weeds of bees.
I glanced down at my hands as I followed Eleanor. The wounds from the scratches Calico had given me had scabbed, leaving condemning trails in my flesh that cracked when I flexed my fingers.
It was only fitting that she’d marked me after what I’d done to her.
Neptune and Jupiter were fine. They’d come out of their strangle-induced siesta and were no worse for wear. Like Eleanor, they’d been given a scan to ensure their lack of oxygen hadn’t caused brain damage or unseen complications, and comprehensive tests to make sure none would suffer from my rage.
However, unlike Eleanor, who I’d given my fucking soul to the minute Pika shot down her dress, just daring me to remove him from her perfect breasts, those two had been given different accommodations for the night.
The cage Eleanor had become acquainted with now had two new inhabitants.
The quarters were tight enough for one. Two would be…uncomfortable.
They didn’t deserve to die, but they hadn’t served enough punishment, not yet.
My fingers curled, activating fresh beads of blood to flow from my wounds. They hadn’t served nearly enough. They’d. Hurt. Her. They’d tried to murder her. They would no longer be given free rein on my island or treated like goddesses.
Their immortality had been revoked.
I had plans for them tomorrow, just like Calico.
I gritted my teeth.
Calico.
Unfortunately, I’d hurt her the most. Unwittingly or premeditated—I would never answer that question—but she was alive and that was all that mattered.
