Chapter Forty-Two
Isla
My first conscious thought was that he was gone.
There was no heat at my back, and the shift of my entire being—the weight of his presence that had taken up all the space in my cavernous loneliness—it was missing.
I was already adrift again.
I was also regretting that I’d agreed to his forty-eight-hour timeclock.
I wanted more.
But I didn’t know what more meant to a man like Nix—or what it would mean for me, how I would navigate that.
Not that I’d had to navigate anything last night with an emerald-eyed SEAL who’d commanded my body as easily as my mind.
But that was both the danger and the desperate longing of it, of him.
All I wanted was for him to come back because he made me feel safe, and he made us fit.
Or rather, he’d made every inch of me fit him.
A shudder rippled through me—from the memory of last night, from the cold room.
I burrowed deeper under the covers that still smelled like sex and him—citrus trees, vetiver grass, masculine musk, earth, danger.
Just as I was inhaling a deep lungful of my new scent addition, a heavy fist pounded hard on the open door, making me jump.
Then a deep voice I didn’t recognize boomed through the bedroom. “Get your ass up, Goldilocks. We’re cooking.”
Thankfully hidden by the comforter that I’d pulled up tight against the cold air-conditioning, I turned to look.
Jesus.
A giant beast of a man, easily six-seven, with two-tone eyes, close-cropped dark hair shot with silver, stood barefoot just outside the doorway.
Wearing an unbuttoned flannel shirt and jeans, he was showing off not only washboard abs, but a whole lot of ink.
From his rolled-up sleeves to his exposed chest, he had tattoos covering his hands, arms, stomach, and pecs.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
“Your fucking meal ticket. Get up.”
Oh my God. “Did Nix send you?” I couldn’t handle another version of a Helios. Not today. Not this morning. And definitely not with every muscle in my body sore and my poor pussy throbbing.
“Did you fuck up my kitchen on the ship?” he countered.
Oh shit. “Tauk?” Nix’s cook from his boat?
“The one and only. Let’s go. You’re prep. I’m cooking. You’re fucking welcome.” He turned to leave. “That’s not getting your ass up, Goldilocks.”
Oh my God. “I need to shower.”
“You got two minutes.” Heading downstairs, he disappeared from my line of sight.
I yelled after him. “What woman showers in two minutes?” I did. When there was no hot water.
“The kind that wants to eat,” he yelled back.
My stomach growled.
“I heard that,” he yelled again before barking out orders like a drill sergeant. “Minute-fifty. Double time.”
Groaning, I got out of bed.
The second I stood, remnants of last night, of Nix’s complete control over me and my body, dripped out of me and slid down my thighs.
I looked down.
Instant desire made my well-abused core pulse with a fresh wave of need.
Tauk yelled up the stairs. “I don’t hear the shower!”
Jesus. I headed to the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, properly scrubbed, hair washed, lotion on, I fingered through my tangled locks to let them air dry in beachy waves as I glanced at myself in the mirror. Staring back was a new, sultry-but-stripped-bare version of myself I didn’t recognize, but I already loved her.
My stomach growled again, reminding me I needed to get dressed, but what did one wear for an occasion like this?
For an almost-impeccable morning after for the harlot—minus the part where the man who’d ravished me like he’d been deflowering my entire past was missing.
I didn’t have an appropriate outfit. At least, not one that blinked with neon signs saying I’ve been fucked within an inch of my life and I have the markings of a possessive SEAL all over me and I’d trade the entirety of my possessions, including my journal, for one more minute with him.
I definitely didn’t own anything like that.
If that didn’t spell tragedy, at least for my still sex-drunk self, I didn’t know what did.
Fishing through my backpack that had magically appeared in the bedroom, I pulled out a sundress that wouldn’t cling or brush against any bite marks. Marks I desperately wanted to take pictures of just so I could remember them when the inevitable tide of Nix Erikson drifted—
Shit. Shit.
Tide.
Ebb tide.
And Whale. The text I’d sent Wolf last night that he’d never replied to and that I just remembered.
Damn it.
I dug through my pack again, found the clutch, and thankfully, the cell was still in there.
I quickly powered it up, then sent a new text.
Ebb tide!
Tauk yelled up the stairs. “Get your ass down here, Goldilocks!”
I turned off the phone and put it back. “Coming!”
Seconds later, I pasted on the personality of a woman who hadn’t been left at the altar of debauchery, and amped up the attitude as if anything about a giant cook being in a penthouse suite kitchen was normal. “Where’s Nix?”
Presiding over his organized mise en place, Tauk grunted. “I’m not his babysitter.” He jerked his chin toward a cell on the island counter. “He left you that. His number’s programmed.”
I looked at the phone.
“Nix said you eat clean.”
I looked back at the beast of a man who would be too tall for this kitchen if the ceilings weren’t so high. “He did?”
“Yep.” He snapped the word like it was code for so much more, then he turned his back on me as he stirred something on the stove that smelled like winter comfort and warm spices.
“What else did he say?”
Tauk was quiet a moment. Then he set the spoon on a plate next to the stove instead of the counter, and turned to look at me. “It’s what he didn’t say.”
I crossed my arms. “Okay?”
His gaze traveled a circuitous route from my face to my shoulder to my arms to my other shoulder, then landed back on my eyes. “He give you those marks?”
In the mirror upstairs, when I saw the bite marks, the hickeys, the fingerprint bruises between my thighs, they’d made me feel owned. Free. Content.
Now I felt judged.
Well, fuck him. I squared my shoulders. “What didn’t Nix say?” I demanded.
For a weighted heartbeat, Tauk didn’t react. Then he chuckled. “Now I see it.” He turned back to the stove. “Wash up. Cilantro and green onions need chopping.”
“See what?” I was already moving toward the sink.
“You and him. Flip sides of the same damn coin.” He shook his head as he added a dry spice to the pot.
My entire body shivered at the coin comment, at the implied connection, no matter how tenuous. “I don’t use dry spices.” I never knew how old they were or how they’d been processed.
“Didn’t have fresh nutmeg.”
Unconvinced of him, this whole scene, myself, my feelings, I held on to the attitude. “What are you making?” I washed my hands, then moved to the cutting board already laid with the fragrant cilantro and pungent green onions.
“Butternut squash soup.”
My hand froze mid-chop. “It’s off season for winter vegetables. Where did the squash come from?”
“Brought it from the ship. Same as the apples and sweet potatoes. Had them in the freezer from this winter. Roasted them with cold pressed olive oil I picked up in Greece. Coconut was from here. Spices are my own. Like I said, Nix informed me of your dietary restrictions. Everything here, you can eat. Any other questions?” All of the information he’d rattled off like this was a normal conversation on an ordinary day.
Picking up the knife, I glanced at the bowl on the counter with a tea towel over it. “What’s in there?”
“Dough for naan to go with the soup. Flour, yeast, water, salt. Ingredients are right there. Organic.” He jerked his chin again, this time toward the neatly lined-up items on the counter. “Check them if you need to.”
I took note of a brand of flour I’d used before, then I started chopping.
Twenty minutes later, after the dance of silent communication that only two people who knew a kitchen could perform, we were seated at the table.
Steaming bowls of soup that he’d dished out were in front of us.
Hot naan that I’d rolled out and he’d cooked on a cast iron skillet had been brushed with olive oil by him and sprinkled with cilantro by me.
His naan had added green onions. And lastly, prepared and waiting before I came downstairs, were two glasses of Pelligrino, complete with slices of fresh pineapple to round out the meal.
I hosted silent butterflies at Nix’s attention to detail while Tauk tore into his naan.
I sipped the effervescence of an alarmingly growing obsession for a former SEAL.
Tauk ate another piece of naan.
I took my first taste of soup, and oh my God. Closing my eyes, savoring the delicate balance of flavors, feeling the warmth of the nutmeg and cinnamon, I appreciated the mastery of Tauk’s recipe for a moment. Then immediately went for more.
He glanced at me. “Good?”
“So good.” I spooned another bite and reached for my naan. “Where did you learn to cook?” The warm bread smelled like comfort, and I forgot about my attitude.
“Needed something to do after I left the Teams. You?” Forgoing his spoon, Tauk picked up his bowl and drank from it like it was coffee in a mug.
“Necessity.”
“Always a fast teacher.” He inhaled a third piece of naan.
I glanced at the size of the bowl that looked dwarfed in his hand. “Is this going to be enough food for you?” I took a bite of the bread.
He cocked an eyebrow and let out a half laugh. “You pull this shit with Nix?”
Omg, the naan. It was delicious. “What shit?”
“Making sure he eats?”
Well…. “No.”
“Didn’t think so. Rules.” Already finished with his meal, Tauk stood.
“No leaving. No fucking around. No pulling any shit. Swim, sleep, whatever. You’re staying in the suite until Nix gets back.
Dinner prep at nineteen hundred. Only use the cell Nix left for you, and only to contact him. Questions?”
Shit. I thought of the text I’d already sent. “So, I’m a prisoner here?”
“You’re saying Nix didn’t give you a choice?”
His voice, already rooted in my mind, swayed its tendrils of seduction even in memory form. Me. For your agency. My face flushed. I didn’t reply.
Tauk made a mockery of my protest. “That’s what I thought.” He dumped his dishes in the sink.
I had to ask again. “What didn’t Nix say?”
His back to me, Tauk started cleaning up. “You going to run again?”
Warm naan halfway to my mouth, I paused. “Excuse me?”
He turned around and leaned against the counter. Then the giant beast of a man crossed his arms. “Nix brought you onto his ship. You left. You surfaced again. Now you’re here.”
I wasn’t responsible for every affront he was implying. “Meaning?”
“You’re asking for intel. I asked if you were sticking around.”
“Okay…?”
Tauk leveled his unforgiving stare on me for a moment. Then he said more than I was expecting. “Nix doesn’t do this. He doesn’t let women into his three-foot world. Ever.” He turned back to the dishes. “That’s what he didn’t say—why you’re here. Or why the fuck I’m on protection detail.”
Guilt crept in. About his sister, about Tauk being here, my brother, even Helios.
I stood and grabbed the cell phone on the counter. “I’ll… be right back.”
I didn’t wait to hear if Tauk replied.
Rushing my sore body up the stairs, I went into his room. Shutting the door behind me, I curled up on the giant bed that now felt empty and pulled up the contacts on the phone.
There was only one, simply entered as N.
My finger hesitated over the Call button.
Then I lost my nerve, swiped to the messenger function, and typed out a text.
Me: You should know, I hate cell phones.
Clutching the stupid device, I waited.
Little dots appeared. Then a reply came through.
N: Understood. A necessary evil.
Reading it three times, hearing his voice as I did, noting how even his texts were somehow dominant, I hadn’t come up with a reply when another message came through.
N: How sore are you?
A shy smile spread, and I typed.
Me: Why? Are you going to come back and make me more sore?
I waited for the dots.
I waited all day.
He never replied.