21. Chapter Twenty-One #2
Luca gathers me against his chest before I can collapse.
He stretches beside me and wraps both arms around my body.
His lips touch my forehead.
My nose.
Then my mouth.
The kiss is soft.
Sweet.
Entirely different from the way he just fucked me.
“This is the best night of my life,” I whisper.
His smile brushes my lips.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I kiss him again.
“I love you.”
“I love hearing that.”
“You’re going to hear it constantly.”
“I can live with that.”
His teeth catch my lower lip.
I don’t know when sleep finally takes me.
I only know that I’m lying on Luca’s chest when it happens.
And his voice is the last thing I hear.
“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
I wake feeling like an entirely new person.
Sunlight has barely begun to reach the shutters.
My body aches in satisfying places.
Sometime during the night, Luca woke me with his mouth between my thighs.
Later, I woke him by climbing on top of him.
Neither of us seems particularly interested in sleep when our hours on the island are numbered.
Now he lies beside me, one arm draped around my waist.
His face is tucked against my neck, and his stubble scratches my skin every time he breathes.
I trace the tattoos along his left arm.
Lines and patterns wrap around his skin, disappearing beneath his shoulder.
Luca stirs.
His arm tightens around me.
“You’re staring.”
His voice is rough with sleep.
“I’m studying.”
“Creepy.”
“Do these mean anything?”
He looks down at the sleeve.
“Not particularly.”
“That’s disappointing.”
“Bran and I got drunk and ended up in a tattoo shop.”
“I remember.”
His eyebrows rise.
“How?”
“You woke me when you came home.”
I trace one dark line.
“Bran was unconscious on the floor. You were standing shirtless in the kitchen, drinking milk from the carton.”
Luca squints as though the memory might return.
“I don’t remember that.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“What did I say?”
“Why do you assume you spoke to me?”
“Because I was drunk. I probably talked to everyone.”
“You told me I was pretty.”
His expression softens.
“Of course I did.”
“You were very confused about it.”
“I’m not confused now.”
His hand slides up my spine.
“You’re beautiful.”
I lean forward.
“And you have terrible refrigerator manners.”
His mouth almost reaches mine.
The door flies open.
I grab the blanket and pull it over my naked body.
Luca sits up immediately, placing himself between me and the doorway.
His hand moves toward the pistol beneath the pillow.
Brock stands there.
His breathing is heavy, and urgency tightens his face.
He barely notices our lack of clothing.
He speaks rapidly in French.
Luca listens.
His body stiffens.
“What is it?”
Brock gestures toward the harbor.
“Le bateau.”
Luca looks back at me.
“It’s them.”
My heart jumps.
“Who?”
“The rescue team.”
He throws the clean shirt toward me and reaches for his trousers.
“Bran is here.”
Excitement and melancholy collide inside me.
My brother.
Home.
Dad.
My music.
The life I thought I’d lost when the plane began falling.
But leaving means the end of this.
The quiet.
The simplicity.
The strange version of Luca and me that exists without anyone else’s expectations.
I pull Luca’s shirt over my head.
It hangs to the middle of my thighs.
He fastens his trousers and checks his weapon.
“Why are they here so early?”
“The wind opened a narrow passage along the southern coast. They came by reinforced patrol vessel instead of waiting for the helicopter.”
“Did they find the pilot?”
Luca’s expression answers before his mouth does.
“No.”
The sweetness of the morning vanishes.
“We need to move.”
He takes my hand.
We follow Brock outside.
The village is in chaos.
Most of the residents have gathered along the harbor, clustered in wary groups as armed members of the rescue team establish a perimeter near the docks.
They aren’t soldiers, exactly.
Private security.
Former military, probably.
All dressed in dark tactical clothing and carrying enough equipment to invade a small nation.
The villagers look ready to throw them back into the sea.
At the center of the commotion stands my brother.
Bran wears cargo pants, boots, a tactical vest, and beneath all of it, an aggressively cheerful yellow shirt with a smiling face and the words:
DON’T FORGET TO SMILE.
Of course he does.
I don’t realize how desperately I’ve missed him until his name tears from my throat.
“Bran!”
He turns.
Relief transforms his face.
I run.
Bran catches me when I collide with him.
His arms wrap around me so tightly I can barely breathe. One hand cradles the back of my head as if he needs to confirm I’m real.
“Jesus Christ, Simone.”
His voice breaks.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
I close my eyes against his shoulder.
During the crash, I believed I would never see him again.
Never argue with him.
Never make fun of his clothes.
Never hear him call me a pain in his ass.
“I almost died in a plane crash,” I say into his vest. “I feel like your fear was justified.”
He pulls back to look at me.
His hands move over my face, shoulders, and arms.
“You’re hurt.”
“Bullet graze. Mild concussion. Assorted bruises.”
“Assorted—”
“I’m fine.”
Bran hugs me again.
Over his shoulder, I see Luca approaching more slowly.
He stops to speak with Brock and the harbor master before joining us.
“The villagers don’t appreciate armed strangers flooding their home,” Luca tells Bran. “Keep your people near the harbor.”
Bran stares at him.
Then he steps forward and wraps him in a crushing embrace.
Luca’s eyes close briefly.
When they open, he looks annoyed.
But the faint smile gives him away.
“God, you look like shit,” Bran says.
“I survived a plane crash.”
“I’ve seen you look better after worse.”
“That’s touching.”
Bran releases him only to grip both shoulders.
“Thank you.”
His humor disappears.
“For getting her out. For keeping her alive.”
Luca’s gaze shifts toward me.