8. Pippi #2
“I love the colors on all the buildings here,” I said after we’d rolled past the first batch of cottages, all painted in eclectic shades of hot pink, lapis blue, sunflower yellow, and dusky lavender. “Is there a particular reason they’ve been painted like this?”
“It was thought, when the island first opened, that it was too grey,” Elmas answered. “Most found it wore on their moods and diminished their enjoyment of the island. So colors were added to the buildings.”
“It also helps keep one from becoming disoriented in the fog,” Aeolus added.
“Ah…that’s what I thought . Thank you for clarifying!”
“Of course,” Elmas and Aeolus said in unison.
Twenty minutes later, the wagon rolled to a stop outside the magenta-and-white cottage that would be our home for the next week—cottage E20.
“These cottages are adorable,” I said, after Jackson and I had stepped off the wagon—and I’d given both alicorns a pet, thanking them for the safe journey across the island. “Don’t you think?” I turned to Jackson.
He grimaced as he drew the key out of his pocket and strolled up the white-railinged porch to the front door. “I don’t know if I’d call it adorable. Pink’s a little too much.”
“I think it’s cute.” I shrugged.
And the inside was even cuter.
The door opened to a little entryway that branched off to the right into a kitchenette—complete with a fire burning stove, some cupboards for utensils and dishware, and a corner table that could seat up to six.
The left side led into a living room with a cushy sofa and an old-fashioned wooden rocking chair.
A big, ornate coffee table sat in front of the sofa, and a bookshelf stretched the full length of the wall that separated the living room from the bedrooms.
The door to the left of the bookshelf led to a square room with two sets of bunk beds, while the door to the right brought us into the primary bedroom, with its airy balcony doors and sprawling king-sized bed.
Our bags waited for us in the primary bedroom. As I moved toward the suitcases, hoping the familiar routine of unpacking would settle my nerves, Jackson threw open the doors to the balcony and stepped outside.
“Babe!” he called, suddenly thrumming with glee. “Holy shit! We’ve got a waterfront property!”
My stomach plummeted. “What?”
“You gotta come see this!” He clapped the railing.
“I’d…I think I’d rather not.”
“Don’t be like that,” he pouted. “We’re on land here. And this”—he thumped his heel against the balcony—“is as solid as solid gets. It’s safe, babe. C’mon.”
I did. Only because he was so excited. And I looked over the railing, allowing my eyes to scale down the side of the cliff that held our tiny cottage out of the sea’s jaws.
Below us, the sea roared, frothing and angry, shooting white-capped waves through the roving tendrils of fog. They looked like monsters. Big, hulking, frothing monsters, curling out of the bowels of Hell to rampage upon the earth.
“What a view, huh?” Jackson hooted.
“Looks like something out of a horror movie,” I said.
He tutted and gave his eyes an affectionate roll. “You’re being dramatic, babe.”
“Am not.” And I told him exactly what I’d thought about the monstrous waves, which had him clutching on to the rail and laughing—in that big, booming, unadulterated way he did when something really tickled his funny bone.
“That”—he swiped at the tears leaking from his eyes—“is definitely dramatic. And a little overdone, yeah?” He laughed again, warmly, and pulled me in for a bone-smashing hug.
“I promise I won’t let the big bad wolf of an ocean blow our cottage down.
” His lips brushed the top of my head, tickling me, and then they shifted down, seeking my mouth.
I pulled away.
Jackson emitted a grumbly growl.
“Puke breath,” I reminded him. “My toothbrush is in the backpack.”
“Ah.” He swatted my rump and shifted the backpack off his shoulders.
I took it from him. “You wanna give me…ten minutes? To freshen up?”
Jackson grumbled and turned his mouth to the side of my neck, suckling and biting until I squirmed. “Can you make it five?” He nipped at my ear. “That bed is begging to be broken in.”
“It is. But I’d like to check for bed bugs first…”
“Ugh, babe.”
“You know I feel better when I check.”
“That’s just…It’s weird.”
“Ten minutes! I promise.” I giggled when he pulled me flush against him, grinding his crotch into mine. “Okay, maybe five.”
“Better.” He gripped my backside with two hands, squeezing possessively, before he gave me another playful swat and sent me on my way.
“Pippi!” Jackson hollered. “They’re swimming out in the water.”
I blinked at my groggy reflection in the bathroom mirror as I hooked a hoop earring into my left ear. Groggy because I’d power napped for four hours, after Jackson and I had broken in our bed, and was still a little sleep drunk. “What?”
I’d misheard him. Surely.
“There’s a whole group of them down there,” he called.
“Down where?”
“In the water!”
My stomach, still very unsettled and wiggly, flipped itself around a loop-de-loop. “Are they mad?” I fastened my other earring into place and hastily zipped myself into my blue polka dot dress. “With those waves they’ll drown!”
“The waves are gone.” Jackson bounded into the bathroom, grinning from ear to ear, and drummed his fingers against the doorframe.
“And it’s super shallow. One lady walked almost clear across without it surpassing her waist. So I checked the map”—he whisked the brochure we’d gotten from the check-in desk out of his pocket—“and we’re overlooking the inlet.
Because this has tide times marked for the inlet, and the tide is definitely out right now.
We should go swimming.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Wha— No . I-I just got dressed for dinner.” I turned in a little half twirl, letting the dress swish around my ankles, as I fought the panic swilling in my stomach again.
He chuffed. “Not right now, obviously. After dinner, for sure. Maybe a little moonlit swim.”
“Uh…”
“Tide should be out ‘til midnight.” Jackson shook the brochure.
“That’s not…I mean…I didn’t pack a bathing suit.”
Jackson tucked his chin down, flashing me an impish grin. “For what I have planned, a bathing suit wouldn’t last long, anyway. Especially with you looking like that.” He dragged his eyes over my backside as I returned to the mirror to check on my still-drying hair.
“You’re not looking too shabby yourself.” I eyed his loose-fitting grey-washed jeans and pastel blue polo shirt—a shirt which was deliciously tight on him—hugging his broad shoulders and bulging pecs, leaving very little to the imagination.
Jackson grinned and puffed his chest out, preening.
I gave my bum a little shake and got rewarded with one of his sexy rumble laughs, deep and masculine, which usually lit spindles of desire in my veins. Usually .
At the moment, not even a full fireball of desire could thaw the icy feelings gnawing at my insides.
“I’d pull your hair back though,” Jackson said, watching me in the mirror as I scrunched my curls. “It’ll just get all poofy.”
“Yeah,” I sighed, conceding defeat, and busted out my scrunchie. “Humidity is not a friend to the curly-haired folk. So, what are you feeling like for dinner tonight?” I asked.
His brow rose.
“Get your head out of the gutter.” I smiled. “Food. Real food. The Pippi buffet isn’t open ‘til later.”
“Shame.” His eyes skimmed my body. “Where do you wanna go for dinner?”
I shrugged. “I was looking at the menus earlier, and we’ve got bar food and uh, more bar food.”
“Bar food it is then.”
He strode forward, swooped my hair over my shoulder, and dragged his teeth lightly over the curve of my neck. “It’s gonna be an amazing week.” He drew back, gave my ass a not-so-gentle swat, and turned away. “Let’s go get this bar food over with. I’m already hankering for my dessert.”