Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
A day and a half later, Alex's hand had healed enough that he'd stopped wincing every time he flexed it, and the fever was nothing but a memory.
He'd been a lousy patient. He knew this because Lily had told him approximately seventy times—when he'd insisted he was fine a full twelve hours before he actually was, when she'd caught him trying to sneak out to check on the turtle nest, when he'd grumbled about being "coddled" while simultaneously accepting every cup of tea she made him.
In his defense, he wasn't used to being taken care of. It made him twitchy. Uncomfortable. Like wearing a shirt that didn't quite fit.
But Lily hadn't let him wriggle out of it. She'd simply rolled her eyes, called him a "grumpy toad," and kept showing up with tea and fresh bandages and that particular expression that said I see through your bullshit, Carmichael.
Now he was back to his usual routine—organizing specimens, reviewing notes, pretending he wasn't hyperaware of her presence on the bed behind him.
Lily had commandeered the mattress hours ago, laptop balanced on her knees, headphones half-on as she scrubbed through the mountain of footage she'd accumulated.
He'd stolen glances when he thought she wasn't looking.
The way she bit her lip when she was concentrating.
The way the light from the screen caught the gold in her eyes.
The way she broke into spontaneous, delighted smiles as she watched her footage.
He hated to admit it but his eyeballs were addicted to the “Lily” show.
“Come look at this," Lily said, patting the mattress beside her. "I think I finally nailed the opening sequence."
The video opened with a sweeping shot of the island at dawn, mist rising from the jungle like something from a dream. Then his voice came in—that section about his mother and the tide pools that had felt like ripping his chest open to record.
But Lily had done something magical with it. She'd layered the audio over footage of the reef, the tide pools, the intricate dance of species he'd spent his career trying to protect. His words about loss and resilience played against images of life persisting, adapting, finding ways to thrive.
It was, without question, the most beautiful thing anyone had ever made about his work.
"Lily," he breathed, not trusting himself to say more.
"Is that a good 'Lily' or a 'what the hell did you do to my research' Lily?" She was watching him instead of the screen, her green eyes searching his face.
"It's incredible." He turned to meet her gaze, and the words that came out surprised even him. "You made it matter. You made me matter."
Something shifted in her expression—a softening, a vulnerability she usually kept hidden behind her sunny exterior. "You always mattered, Alex. You just needed someone to show you how to let people see it."
The space between them suddenly felt charged, electric with possibility. Alex was hyperaware of every point of contact—her shoulder against his, her knee brushing his thigh, the warmth radiating from her body.
"We keep dancing around something." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "And I don't mean the sex."
Alex's heart hammered against his ribs. "Lily—"
"I know all the reasons why it's complicated." She set laptop aside, turning to face him fully. "I know I'm leaving. I know you live on remote islands chasing fish. I know this probably doesn't make any logical sense."
"It doesn't," he agreed, but his hand was already moving, brushing a curl from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek.
"But I also know that I've never felt like this before." Her eyes were bright, almost fierce. "And I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been if we'd both been brave enough to find out."
Ask her to stay.
The words pressed against his teeth, demanding to be spoken. He could feel them forming, could almost taste them on his tongue.
Instead, he kissed her.
It was easier than talking. Safer than admitting the truth. His mouth found hers with a desperation that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with the terror clawing at his chest—the knowledge that he was running out of time and wasting what little remained.
Lily responded instantly, her fingers threading through his hair as she pulled him closer. She tasted like the mango they'd shared for breakfast and something sweeter underneath, something that was purely her.
"Alex," she gasped against his lips, and the sound of his name in her voice—breathy, wanting—sent heat rushing straight to his groin.
"Tell me to stop," he said, even as his hands slid beneath her tank top, palms flat against the warm skin of her back. "Tell me this is a bad idea and we should be having an actual conversation."
"Terrible idea," she agreed, pulling back just enough to yank her tank top over her head. "Absolutely reckless."
The sight of her—bare except for a scrap of pink lace—still made his brain short-circuit.
It didn't matter that he'd seen her like this a dozen times now.
The freckles scattered across her chest like constellations.
The curve of her breasts, perfect handfuls that his palms ached to touch.
The way she looked at him, bold and hungry, like she wanted to devour him whole.
He didn't think he'd ever get used to it.
He didn't want to.
"You're staring,” she murmured with a satiated smile.
“I want to remember you just like this.”
The word slipped out before he could stop it, and something flickered across Lily's face—pain, maybe, or understanding. She knew what he meant. Knew he was already preparing for her absence.
"Then let me give you something worth remembering."
She tugged at his shirt, and Alex helped her pull it over his head. Her hands immediately found his chest, fingers tracing familiar paths across his skin with an urgency that hadn't been there before.
This was different from the lazy morning sex they'd fallen into over the past week. Different from the explosive passion of that first time during the storm. This felt like a conversation they couldn't have with words—desperate and tender and achingly sad.
Alex flipped them, pressing her into the mattress, needing to feel her beneath him, needing to map every inch of her one more time. He kissed down her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, trying to commit every detail to memory.
When he took one nipple into his mouth, Lily's back arched off the bed, a moan escaping her lips that he felt in his bones.
"More," she demanded, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “Oh God yessss—“
He lavished attention on her other breast, then continued his descent, kissing across her stomach, feeling her muscles flutter beneath his lips.
When he reached the waistband of her underwear, he didn't pause—just hooked his fingers in the lace and dragged it down her legs with a savage hunger he couldn’t contain.
She was gorgeous. Glistening and lush and already so wet for him. The sight made his mouth water the same way it had the first time, and every time since.
"Alex." Her voice was half warning, half plea. "Stop looking at me like that and—oh."
The rest of her sentence disappeared into a gasp as he lowered his head and tasted her.
She was sweet and musky and absolutely intoxicating. Alex groaned against her, the vibration making her hips buck. He held her steady with one hand on her stomach while his tongue explored her folds—not learning anymore, but worshipping. Showing her with his mouth what he couldn't say with words.
I love you, each stroke of his tongue confessed. I love you and I'm too much of a coward to tell you.
When he found her clit and sucked gently, Lily nearly came off the bed.
"Fuck, Alex, that's—yes, right there—"
He built her up slowly, savoring every sound she made, every tremor that ran through her body. She was vocal in a way that still surprised and delighted him—the curated influencer persona completely absent as she begged for more, harder, faster.
When he slid two fingers inside her while his tongue continued its assault on her clit, she shattered with a cry that echoed off the cabin walls.
Alex worked her through it, gentling his touch as the waves of her orgasm rolled through her, only pulling back when she tugged weakly at his hair.
“Fuck me,” she demanded, her voice wrecked. "Now."
He crawled up her body, and she kissed him deeply, moaning at the taste of herself on his lips. Her hands found the waistband of his shorts, shoving at them with uncoordinated urgency.
"These need to go. Immediately."
Alex kicked them off along with his boxers, and then there was nothing between them—just skin against skin, heat against heat, his hard cock pressing against her slick center.
Lily reached between them and wrapped her fingers around his shaft, and Alex's vision went white at the edges.
"Jesus," he groaned, his hips jerking into her grip. "Lily—"
"I need you," she breathed, positioning him at her entrance. "Inside me. Now."
He pressed forward, sinking into her in one smooth stroke, and they both groaned at the sensation. It should have felt familiar by now—he'd been inside her more times than he could count this past week—but somehow it still felt like coming home.
How am I supposed to give this up?
"Move," Lily demanded, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Alex, please—"
He obliged, setting a rhythm that was slow at first, deliberate, each thrust a statement he couldn't make any other way. But the urgency built quickly, driven by desperation and the ticking clock they'd both been pretending to ignore.
Soon Alex was moving faster, harder, Lily meeting him thrust for thrust.
Lily couldn’t speak, her mouth dropping open on a gasp.
He huffed a laugh against her skin—even now, she could make him smile—and shifted his weight, hitching her leg higher over his hip. The new angle let him sink deeper, and Lily cried out, shuddering all around him.