7
The first raysof the sun filter through the wet leaves, splash over my closed eyelids and pull me fully awake.
I let out a soft moan and stretch my stiff limbs. My eyes are gritty, I’m stiff, and even with Declan under me, there’s still a damp coldness seeping through me.
At my shifting, Declan blinks open his eyes and peers up at me sleepily. His green eyes are only a few inches from mine. They’re more vibrant in the morning light, and I notice that they’re the same color as the deep green of a shaded palm leaf mixed with flecks of brown and hazel.
They remind me of the thick tropical foliage in my backyard—it’s deep green, lush, and full of surprises like butterflies, dragonflies, moths, and vibrant flowers that bloom throughout the year. An ordinary garden that’s extraordinary only because it’s mine.
He blinks up at me and the sleepy confusion clears from his expression.
“Morning,” he says and his voice is gravelly and deep and thick with sleep.
His black hair is messy and damp and his jaw is shadowed with dark stubble.
I have a feeling that not many people ever hear his voice sounding sleep-laced or see his jaw unshaven or his hair tousled. Probably only the women he sleeps with.
I grow hot at the thought and then I stiffen when I realize how I’m spread over him. My legs are tangled with his, my breasts are pressed into his chest, and my hands press into his shoulders. I look down into his eyes and feel my own widen.
“Morning.” My voice comes out husky and thick. It always sounds like that in the morning, but this time, I’m embarrassed by it, because it suggests certain things.
Last night, I was too tired to focus too much on the intimacy of our position. I didn’t notice how long his legs are, the firmness of his abdomen, or the width of his shoulders. I didn’t feel how I fit so well against him. I didn’t notice the warm, tingling flush that races over me everywhere we touch. I glance at him in surprise.
Does he feel that too?
Declan gives me a quizzical smile. “Pardon my rudeness, but do you mind…getting off me?”
Oh. Ohhh.
No, he doesn’t feel it.
I scramble off him and duck out from under the table. I roll my shoulders and try to stretch all the kinks out. Declan emerges a moment later. He brushes off his clothing and straightens his shirt. I look to the side and try to pull myself together.
Get it together, Isla.
It’s Declan Fox. He’s not interested in you, and you’re not interested in him. Pull it together.
I run my fingers through my hair and arrange my damp clothing. The sun is high enough now that the clearing is lit by a greenish, golden morning light and the flowers are starting to open.
Declan clears his throat and looks toward the beach.
I scuff my foot against the stone. I have the feeling that once we leave the gazebo, things will go back to the way they were between us.
So, before that happens, I say, “Thank you again. For last night.”
He turns back to me with a distracted look. “It was nothing. Shall we?” He gestures toward the beach.
I sigh. I guess we’re already back to the impersonal.
“Of course,” I say.
The water is calm, all the waves from the storm are gone, and the surface is flat enough to reflect the orange and yellow of the sunrise. We paddle back through the bluish-gold tinted water.
It’s beautiful. Really, truly beautiful.
Although, it’s hard to enjoy, because the entire way back neither Declan nor I say a word.
And I wonder, which one’s right, my first impression of Declan, or my second impression, or neither at all?
Oh well, it doesn’t really matter. It’s not as if we’ll be interacting much after this. When we pull back up to the little cove, and the cottage and the Italianate monstrosity next door, I help Declan put up the kayak.
When he turns to go, I say, “Well, that night wasn’t too terrible. See you at the plane.”
He lifts a hand in goodbye and strides back toward the marble stairs of his rental. I frown as I watch him walk away. There’s an annoying pinch in my chest that I decide to ignore.
I turn to the cottage. I sure hope Kate and Arya had a better night than me.