Salt Kiss (Lyonesse #1)

thirty-three

“Shh,” I tell Isolde as she moans. “Be quiet or I’ll have to stop.”

It’s the middle of the day, when most of the staff are taking a break after lunch, and Isolde and I are tucked behind the waterfall of the yacht’s largest pool, pressed into a nook just wide enough for two people to fit inside. I scouted it thoroughly yesterday, checking every sight line, watching as the boat rocked and the waterfall moved with it just to make sure. The nook is dark enough and the waterfall wide and rushing enough that anyone standing behind it is invisible.

Necessary reconnaissance, as Isolde has taken to wearing that godless swimsuit every day, swimming long laps in the pool as I pretend to read fantasy novels on the deck, until I finally give up and stalk back to my room to jerk off.