17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Come Find Me
Simone
I wake to the cries of seagulls and waves brushing softly against the shore.
The room smells like salt, rosemary, and something floral drifting through the open cracks around the shutters.
Muted conversation carries from somewhere deeper in the cottage.
I’m not alone.
A solid wall of heat surrounds me.
Two muscular arms hold me against a broad chest, one wrapped heavily around my waist. Our legs are tangled together beneath the blanket, and Luca’s heartbeat moves in a slow, steady rhythm against my back.
For several drowsy seconds, I enjoy the warmth without questioning it.
Then I feel him.
All of him.
Hard and thick against the back of my thighs.
Heat shoots through my stomach and up my neck.
I remain perfectly still.
At least, I try.
The bed is too narrow, and Luca is holding me like I’m a stuffed animal he claimed in his sleep. When I shift experimentally, his erection presses more firmly between my legs.
Pleasure flashes through me.
Sharp.
Immediate.
Entirely inappropriate before breakfast.
I bite my lip to keep from making a sound.
I should move.
I should definitely move.
Instead, I lie there with my heart pounding and wonder whether he’s still asleep.
Or whether he’s pretending.
His breathing remains calm.
I carefully turn inside his arms.
Luca doesn’t release me.
Now I’m facing him.
Even asleep, he looks unfairly beautiful.
A faint line sits between his eyebrows, as though some part of his mind remains on duty even in his dreams. His eyelashes are dark and thick against his cheekbones.
His lower lip is fuller than the upper one.
There’s a slight bend in his nose and dark stubble covering his jaw.
I lift one finger.
Then I trace the line of his brow.
His cheek.
The edge of his jaw.
I tell myself I’m only studying him.
That’s another lie.
I didn’t fall for Luca solely because he was beautiful.
Even when I was younger, I sensed there was more beneath the hard exterior. Something wounded and carefully guarded.
He has spent years hiding those parts of himself so well that sometimes I wonder whether he still knows they exist.
“Should I be concerned that you’re watching me sleep?”
His voice is rough and low.
I jerk my hand away.
“I wasn’t watching you.”
One green eye opens.
“Of course not.”
I attempt to retreat.
His arm tightens around my waist before relaxing again, as though the movement was instinctive.
“You’re hard,” I say.
I’m not sure whether I want to embarrass him or prove I’m not the only one affected by this position.
Luca opens his other eye.
“You’re warm.”
“That isn’t an apology.”
“I’m not apologizing for biology.”
His sleepy gaze moves over my face.
Then lower.
Claire’s borrowed dress has ridden high over my thighs during the night. One of Luca’s hands rests against the back of my leg, his fingers close enough to the edge of my underwear to destroy my ability to think.
“Convenient excuse,” I whisper.
He shifts.
Our hips align.
His erection presses directly against me.
I inhale sharply.
Luca goes still.
The amusement disappears from his eyes.
“Do you want me to move?”
The question is quiet.
Serious.
I should say yes.
Instead, I look at his mouth.
“No.”
Something changes in his expression.
His hand slides from my waist to my hip, but he doesn’t move it any farther.
“Do you want me to touch you?”
My pulse beats wildly.
“Yes.”
The answer comes out breathless but clear.
“Where?”
I swallow.
“You know where.”
“I want you to say it.”
Of course he does.
Heat spreads across my face.
“Between my legs.”
His eyes darken.
“Good.”
Luca’s hand moves beneath the hem of my dress.
His fingertips trail over my inner thigh, slow enough to make every nerve awaken beneath them.
He stops at the edge of my underwear.
“Still yes?”
“Yes.”
His palm cups me through the thin fabric.
A helpless sound escapes my throat.
My thighs close around his hand.
He presses more firmly, pulling my hips toward him until I feel his erection against me again.
“You still want me to move?” he asks.
“No.”
His mouth brushes my chin.
“That’s what I thought.”
The heel of his palm rolls against my clit.
I close my eyes.
“Look at me.”
The command sends another wave of heat through me.
I force my eyes open.
Luca watches every reaction on my face while his fingers move slowly over me.
The control in his expression is already beginning to crack.
“Does that feel good?”
“Yes.”
His middle finger traces the center of my panties.
“Tell me.”
“Your hand feels good.”
“Better.”
His fingers slide beneath the edge of my underwear.
The first touch against my bare skin makes my entire body tense.
“So good,” I breathe.
Luca’s lips hover over mine.
“Say it here.”
We’re almost kissing.
Our mouths touch lightly, open and waiting, but neither of us closes the final distance.
“You make me feel good,” I whisper against his lips.
His finger strokes through the wetness gathering between my thighs.
“So fucking good.”
His mouth curves.
“That’s what I wanted to hear.”
He circles my clit once.
Twice.
My hips lift toward his hand.
Then someone coughs.
Luca’s fingers stop.
I freeze.
A little boy stands in the doorway, holding an apple in one hand.
The same dark-haired child who appeared last night with Claire.
Julien.
His hair is tangled from sleep, and his expression contains the silent judgment of someone who knows he has interrupted something important.
I scramble away from Luca so quickly that I nearly fall from the bed.
“Oh, my God.”
Luca removes his hand from beneath my dress with considerably more dignity.
He sits up, dragging one hand through his hair.
I throw the blanket across his lap before Julien can notice the obvious shape beneath his trousers.
The boy tilts his head and asks something in French.
Luca presses his lips together.
Then he answers, “Something like that.”
Julien grins.
He disappears into the hallway.
I press myself against the wall.
“What did he ask?”
Luca’s mouth twitches.
“He asked whether we were cuddling.”
I grab the pillow and throw it at his face.
“And you said, ‘Something like that’?”
He catches the pillow.
“We weren’t exactly cuddling.”
“Shut up.”
A knock sounds against the open door.
Brock enters carrying a tray.
He takes one look at me flattened against the wall, Luca holding the pillow, and the blanket covering Luca’s lap.
His eyebrows rise.
He says nothing.
Thank God.
“People know you are here,” he announces.
The tray contains bread, cheese, apples, and a portion of salted fish on a separate plate.
“They ask questions.”
“Are they dangerous?” I ask.
Brock responds in French.
Luca translates.
“He says the villagers aren’t dangerous, but they’re protective of the island. They don’t like outsiders, and they don’t trust quickly.”
“They also don’t forgive quickly,” Brock adds in careful English.
“That’s comforting.”
“He’s helping us,” Luca says.
Brock shrugs.
“I believe in mercy.”
He studies me for a moment, then speaks to Luca again.
“What did he say?”
Luca rubs one finger over his eyebrow.
“He said you’re frightened, and that tells him enough.”
“I’m not frightened.”
Both men look at me.
“Fine. I’m appropriately concerned.”
Brock sets the tray on the chair.
“You stay inside today.”
“Why?”
“People watch.”
He turns toward Luca.
“I show you old station. Tracks there.”
Luca’s posture changes.
Every trace of sleep leaves his face.
“You found something?”
“Last night, before village. I did not go inside alone.”
“The pilot?”
“Maybe.”
Cold slips beneath my skin.
“What old station?”
“An observation post on the cliffs,” Luca explains. “Brock saw tracks leading toward it.”
“The same tracks from the beach?”
Brock nods.
“One man. Heavy bag.”
Luca moves toward the edge of the bed.
“I’m coming with you.”
“I assumed.”
He reaches for his pistol beneath the pillow and checks it before concealing it beneath his jacket.
The sight sends my anxiety higher.
Brock points toward me.
“She stays.”
“I heard you.”
“I’ll stay inside.”
The promise tastes suspiciously like surrender but wandering around a village while a potentially armed pilot hides nearby suddenly sounds less appealing.
“Good.”
Brock moves toward the door.
Then he pauses.
“My wife comes.”
Claire appears behind him with Julien clutching her hand.
Her red hair is cropped close around her face, and her smile is polite but warm.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I say.
Julien beams at me like we’re sharing a scandalous secret.
I narrow my eyes at him.
His grin widens.
Brock gestures toward Claire.
“My wife.”
“I understood that part.”
Claire laughs.
“And this is our grandson, Julien.”
The little spy lifts his apple in greeting.
“Your grandson has excellent timing,” I tell her.
Luca coughs into his hand.
Claire looks between us.
“I am sure.”
Wonderful.
Julien whispers something to her.
She answers him rapidly in French, and he giggles.
“What did he say?” I ask Luca.
“Nothing.”
“That wasn’t nothing.”
“It wasn’t important.”
“It was about us.”
“Almost certainly.”
I glare at him.
Claire turns back to me.
“You need a bath. Clean clothes.”
I look down at the ruined remains of her dress, which is wrinkled from sleep and still marked with soot from my body.
“I could kiss you.”
Luca’s gaze sharpens.
I ignore him.
Brock says something to Claire, who nods.
“You stay with me,” she says. “Brock and your…”
Her eyes move toward Luca.
“Bodyguard,” I supply.
Claire’s smile becomes knowing.
“Yes. Your bodyguard goes to cliffs.”
Luca reaches for the plate of fish.
I grab both apples.
He looks at my hands.
“One is mine.”
“You can have my fish.”
“You can’t eat the fish.”
“That doesn’t make the offer less generous.”
“It does.”
He squats in front of me until we’re eye level.
His hands rest on his thighs.
I bite into one apple.
Luca watches my mouth.
“You chew strangely.”
I stop.
“What does that mean?”
“One side at a time.”
“That’s how chewing works.”
“Not like that.”
My cheek is full of apple.
I have never been more conscious of eating in my life.
“You’re irritating.”
“One bite.”
“No.”
“It’s my apple.”
“You have fish.”
“I want the apple.”
I scoot backward.