Chapter Three #2
At the top, the trail leveled out again, winding through dense trees. Vines dangled from branches like lazy serpents, and thick ferns brushed against their legs as they passed. He carried the basket while she pointed out plants and called their names—many he’d never heard before.
A flicker of orange darted past them, and Miss Montclair gave a sudden laugh and leapt forward, cupping her hands around the air. When she turned back, she held her closed palms toward him.
“Look,” she stepped closer and angled her hands toward a shaft of sunlight until the bright wings shimmered like bits of fire between her fingers.
“Isn’t she beautiful? An Agraulis vanillae.” She slowly opened her hands, and the butterfly lingered for the span of a breath before fluttering free. Long lashes swept up as she met his gaze, eyes shining. “They also call it the passion butterfly.”
Passion. The moniker landed in his chest like a spark on dry tinder. He cleared his throat, eyes shifting to the trees beyond her. Here, in the muted light of the jungle, with her so close he could feel her warmth, the word hung between them like a promise.
Or a warning.
Somewhere ahead, the rush of water rose above the hum of insects and the rustle of leaves. She smiled and turned, skirt swaying as she took off down the trail. “Almost there.” She quickened her pace.
Isaac lingered a moment before following, drawn by the quiet pull of something he didn’t dare name.
The forest opened into a clearing after a bend, and he drew in a sharp breath.
Before them, a wide waterfall cascaded over a cliff, plunging into a crystalline pool below.
The water gleamed azure and sunlit, white torrents pouring like a silken veil over black stone.
Mist drifted through the air, catching light in drifting halos while kissing his skin with cool relief.
Trailing vines bloomed in wild profusion along the rock face—bursts of pink and white flowers that clung like garlands to the cliffside, softening its edges with color.
The canopy above parted just enough for sunlight to pour through, casting the clearing in a golden, dreamlike glow.
He’d never seen anything like it.
“What do you think?”
He stood next to her, taking it in. “It’s incredible.”
She shot him a smug look and took the basket from him. “Told you.” Taking the blanket out, she laid it out on a flat rock overhanging the pool.
“The water comes straight from a spring,” she said over her shoulder, already stepping toward the edge of the pool. “It’s quite refreshing.”
She untied her apron and let it fall onto the blanket beside the basket, then reached behind her back. Her fingers moved with practiced ease. It took him a moment to realize she was unlacing her dress.
His breath hitched. Surely, she wasn’t—
She was.
Her hands gathered the folds of her skirts, scrunching the fabric as she lifted them, revealing the pale linen of her chemise. He twisted away so fast he nearly slipped on the mossy rock. “Miss Montclair, this is highly improper!”
“Lieutenant,” she called, voice thick with a teasing island lilt, “you’re not in America anymore. This is Tortuga. Relax a little.”
A beat passed as he struggled to keep his focus on the forest, then her voice came again, softer. “Be grateful. Usually, I don’t wear anything at all.”
The words struck like a hot brand, searing straight through his composure. A jolt of heat shot down his spine as his mind—traitorous and eager—offered a vivid image of her standing bare and unashamed beneath the sun.
He swallowed hard, throat dry as sand. Eyes still fixed firmly on the treetops, he clenched his jaw and willed the image away.
She chuckled, the sound deep and throaty. “Suit yourself.” A moment later, a heavy splash echoed through the clearing.
He clenched his teeth as more splashing came from the pool.
“The water is wonderful today.”
How the hell was he supposed to resist? Like a man trapped by a siren’s lure, he slowly turned. She had made her way to the base of the waterfall, her dark hair swirling around her in the current. As she reached the shore, she pulled herself up onto a smooth rock, water streaming down her limbs.
He stared. He couldn’t help it. Though every shred of discipline urged him to look away, his gaze held fast. The wet chemise clung to her like a second skin, outlining every soft curve, every subtle dip and swell.
She turned to face him, water splattering the rock beneath her.
A groan built in the back of his throat as he shifted his weight, trying to ease the aching pressure straining against his breeches.
Miss Montclair eased onto the wet stones beside the falls, moving closer to the cascading water. She reached a hand into the rushing stream, droplets splashing across her arm and shoulder. “Are you coming?”
Good God.
The soaked fabric hugged her breasts, revealing the dusky outline of her nipples, dark against pale cotton. Did she realize how much he could see?
Only a saint would turn away.
And he was no saint.
Not today.
His pulse thundered in his ears as he bent to unlace his boots.
A moment later, his jacket hit the ground with a soft thud, followed by his cravat and waistcoat.
At the edge of the overhang, he hesitated a moment, fingers brushing the collar of his shirt.
He shouldn’t—hell, he shouldn’t be out here at all, but the heat of the day, the cool promise of the water, and the sight of her were too much to resist.
With a swift motion, he tugged off his shirt, letting it fall to the rocks.
His bare skin prickled in the shade, goosebumps rising where the breeze touched him.
Without a word, he bent his knees and launched himself into the crystal-clear water.
The shock of cold seized him, sharp and electric, stealing the breath from his lungs. He broke the surface with a gasp.
Across the pool, Miss Montclair’s eyes sparkled like the sun-flecked water around them. Isaac kicked steadily, cutting through the cool water as the roar of the waterfall grew louder. He reached the edge of the pool and braced a hand against the slick rocks, hauling himself up beside her.
“Follow me.” She slipped beneath the crashing cascade without hesitation, water streaming over her like liquid silk. Her laughter rang out, clear and uninhibited, carried on the spray.
He hesitated only a heartbeat before following, stepping into the thunderous rush. The water pounded against his head and shoulders, deafening and wild, as if the island was unleashing its fierce spirit upon him. He passed through the cascade and stepped into the hollow behind it.
Miss Montclair’s eyes pressed closed, her face lifted, hair plastered to her skin by the spray. For a moment, he simply watched, stunned. There was nothing coy or careful about her—no attempt to shield herself or impress him. Just joy. Wild, radiant joy.
No woman he’d ever met in New York or Savannah or anywhere in between had ever looked like that. Had ever been like that.
He stepped closer, drawn by something he didn’t fully understand, until his foot slipped on the wet rock.
His hand shot out instinctively, catching her waist. She startled, but didn’t pull away.
Her eyes fluttered open, lashes beaded with water.
For a breathless moment, neither of them moved.
The roar of the waterfall wrapped around them, enclosing them in a world of white sound and wild spray.
“Careful,” she murmured, laughter still clinging to her voice.
Her face hovered inches from his, her lips parted in surprise—or something else. If he leaned in, just a little more…
His pulse thundered louder than the water.
In another life… another day…
Perhaps here, in this hidden place carved from sunlight and stone, they might have had a tryst. A reckless, breathless surrender to the pull between them.
But this wasn’t that day.
He drew back as if the water burned him. Let go of her waist. Took a half-step away. Duty hammered cold and relentless through his veins. He was a naval officer. A man with orders, with discipline. With a mission to uphold and a captain’s trust still unearned.
This—whatever this was—had no place in the life he was bound to live. He cleared his throat and took another step back, slipping free from the magic of the falls.
“I must return to my ship.”