Hydromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 4)

She rented one of the ten tree houses that made up the resort. Each one was constructed around the branches of the giant forest trees with good distances in between to ensure privacy. They passed through the thick vegetation of ferns and bird of paradise flowers until her unit came into sight.

Tim helped her up the ladder, his hand on her hip. Though she didn’t need assistance, she smiled inwardly at the gentlemanly gesture. On the narrow landing, she opened the door to a small kitchen.

He entered and looked around. “I’ve never been in one of these.” He left the bag on the table and walked to the backdoor. “Do you mind?” His hand was already on the knob.

“Go ahead.”

She followed him onto the hang bridge that led to the bedroom and bathroom. He peered inside her private domain, but didn’t enter.

“Nice view,” he said, pointing at the veranda that extended from the bedroom toward the ocean. “Sure is small. Doesn’t it get crowded?”

“It’s the only accommodation close to the scuba center, but yes, I suppose once the novelty of living in a tree wears off…”

“You’ll get bored?” He brushed her dreadlocks over her shoulders, his fingertips sweeping over her skin in a light caress.

Escaping the question more than the touch, Maya turned back onto the bridge and made her way to the kitchen. She took two beers from the fridge and twisted off the caps. When Tim re-entered, she handed him one and took a chair by the table.

“You mentioned dinner,” she said with a teasing grin.

Tim took a swig from the beer and left his bottle on the table to rummage through the fridge.

After a while, he straightened with his hands on his hips. “How do you live on bread, Babybel cheese, processed ham, and beer, Miss Martin?”

“Told you, I don’t eat in often.”

He rolled up his sleeves. “Tonight will be your first lesson. Come here.” He pointed at the spot next to him.

She got to her feet and moved over to him. “What are we making?” She couldn’t resist poking fun. “Cheese sandwiches?”

He clicked his tongue. “Maya.” Gripping her hips, he turned her to face the counter. “Never go for below-average. Always aim for excellence. Why eat a cheese sandwich when you can have a croque monsieur?”

She watched in silence as Tim took the food from the fridge and peeled the red skin off the cheese.

“Here. Cut these up. Too soft to grate. Not the best cheese for grilling. Next time, get Emmental or Gruyere.”

While she obediently carved the cheese, Tim buttered slices of bread. He looked at home in the kitchen, finding his way around effortlessly with sure and easy movements. Without having to conduct a search, like she had to, he retrieved a pan from the cupboard underneath the sink. He placed it on the stove and lit the gas.

He peered over her shoulder, his stubble grating her cheek. “How are you doing with that cheese?”

Pinpricks of pleasure ran down her spine.

“Good. Pay attention now, beautiful Maya.” His voice vibrated against the shell of her ear, and he inhaled softly before he pulled away. He placed ham and cheese neatly on a slice of bread. “Your turn.”

Maya built her sandwich, aware of him studying her as she worked. “There.” She offered him her masterpiece.

“Not bad for a first try,” he said, to which she snorted. He moved his hand over the pan. “It’s got to be warm but not too hot, or your gourmet meal will burn.”

He dumped the two sandwiches into the pan. A sizzling noise and the fragrant smell of frying butter filled the space. Maya brought him his beer and sipped hers while Tim flipped the bread.

When the sandwiches were done, Maya took their plates and a stack of paper napkins. “Grab some more beers, will you?” She made her way over the bridge to the front veranda.

They sat down in the deck chairs overlooking the ocean to eat their meal. By the time they’d finished, the sun was setting. Tim took another beer from the six-pack by his feet and opened it before offering it to Maya.

“Thanks.” She watched him twist the cap off another beer for himself. “You’ve done a half-assed job with the introduction.”

His lips curved in a lazy way. “Insulting me again?”

“You know who I am. I on the other hand…”

His expression turned serious. “I don’t know who you are, Maya, not yet, but I fully intend to find out.”

Her skin broke out in goosebumps. The sensation shocked her. She didn’t often experience a sense of trepidation because of a man. She regarded Tim sideways. She wasn’t sure how to read him. Was his statement a warning or a suggestive remark?

“You’re right about the introduction.” He inclined his head. “Tim Fardel.”

“How long have you been in Costa Rica, Tim Fardel?”