16. Chapter Sixteen #2
Only a handful of windows are lit. The village appears to run on a limited generator or solar storage system rather than a full electrical grid.
Simone stops beside me.
“This is…”
“Real?” I suggest.
“Oddly beautiful.”
Brock points toward the harbor.
“The radio office is there.”
A squat stone building stands beside a wooden dock.
“The antenna is on the roof. Broken.”
I look toward the vessels pulled onto shore.
“Could one of those reach the mainland?”
“Not in this wind.”
“Once it calms?”
“Perhaps. But no one leaves without the harbor master’s approval.”
“Why?”
“Rocks. Currents.”
Brock lowers his voice.
“And because some villagers don’t want outsiders bringing attention.”
I scan the buildings.
A curtain moves in one window.
Someone is watching us.
Then another face appears behind a second pane before quickly disappearing.
The village may be small, but news travels faster than we do.
Brock starts down the hill.
“People are waking. We go to my house first. I explain.”
“Explain what?” Simone asks.
“That we fell from the sky.”
She looks at me.
“That sounds dramatic even for us.”
“It’s accurate.”
The path enters the village.
Several doors remain closed, but I feel eyes behind them.
No one approaches.
No one greets Brock.
A man carrying a basket stops when he sees us. His expression hardens before he changes direction.
Brock wasn’t exaggerating.
They don’t welcome strangers.
His cottage stands near the far edge of the village, close to the water but separated from the other homes by a low stone wall.
The building is small and pale, with weathered blue shutters and fishing nets hanging beneath the eaves.
Brock unlocks the door.
“My wife and grandson are sleeping.”
His voice lowers.
“Do not alarm them.”
“We won’t,” I say.
Simone offers him a tired smile.
“I’ll try to avoid screaming.”
Brock looks uncertain whether she’s joking.
She is.
Probably.
Warmth and the scent of herbs meet us inside.
The main room contains a worn couch, a low table, and a cast-iron stove with the last red glow of coals inside.
Fishing tools hang from the walls. A kettle rests on the stove.
I immediately identify two exits, four windows, and a narrow hallway leading deeper into the cottage.
Brock notices me looking.
“No danger here.”
“That remains to be seen.”
He gives me a level look.
“You protect her.”
“Yes.”
“Wife?”
Simone coughs.
“No,” I answer.
Brock’s gaze shifts between us.
Then one eyebrow rises.
“Of course.”
I don’t ask what that means.
He leads us into a small guest room.
There’s one narrow bed.
Only one.
A wooden chair sits beside it, and a wool blanket has been folded at the foot.
“Sorry,” Brock says. “My grandson has the other room.”
“This is perfect,” Simone says.
She immediately sits on the bed.
“Thank you.”
“It is not a palace.”
“It has walls, a mattress, and no burning aircraft. At this point, it qualifies.”
Brock smiles.
“I bring bread, water, and tea.”
He leaves us alone.
I close the door and test the latch.
Weak.
I drag the chair beneath the handle, then inspect the single window.
It opens toward the sea. Too narrow for me to climb through quickly, but large enough for someone to reach inside.
I secure the shutters.
Simone watches from the bed.
“You know, most guests unpack before barricading themselves in someone’s house.”
“We don’t have luggage.”
“Technicality.”
“We also don’t know Brock.”
“He rescued us.”
“He found us.”
“Same difference.”
“No.”
She falls backward across the mattress and spreads her arms.
Her hair fans over the blanket.
My gaze travels down her body before I can stop it.
The torn black costume exposes most of her legs. One side has ripped higher along her thigh, and my jacket hangs open enough to reveal the dark crystals molded over her breasts.
Exhaustion should make desire impossible.
It doesn’t.
She rolls onto one side and props her head on her hand.
The movement deepens the neckline created by the damaged fabric.
An image strikes without warning.
Her on her knees.
That heavy hair wrapped around my fist.
Her mouth open for me while I make her take everything I’ve denied wanting.
The fantasy is so vivid my cock hardens.
I drag my attention toward the window.
“Enjoying yourself?” she asks.
“No.”
“Liar.”
“You’re lying in a stranger’s bed on an island where an armed pilot may be hiding.”
“I slept on the ground beside a man who looked like a corpse last night.”
“I was not a corpse.”
“You were unresponsive.”
“I woke up.”
“After I climbed on top of you.”
Every muscle in my body tightens.
She knows exactly what she’s doing.
Again.
“Don’t become too comfortable.”
I remove my shoes.
“We don’t know whether Brock can be trusted. We know even less about the rest of the village.”
“You heard him. He has a wife and grandson.”
“Family members aren’t proof of innocence.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re exhausting?”
“Frequently.”
“We’re safe here,” she says.
“We don’t know that.”
“You’re here.”
The words stop me.
She says them casually, as though they require no explanation.
I look at her.
Simone’s gaze shifts away first.
Brock returns before I can answer.
He carries a wooden tray with bread, cheese, water, and two cups of steaming tea.
“My wife made the bread yesterday,” he says. “The tea helps pain.”
I inspect the cups.
Brock sees me.
“It is mint, rosemary, and honey. Nothing else.”
Simone takes one immediately.
“Thank you.”
She drinks before I can stop her.
Her eyes close.
“Oh, that’s incredible.”
Brock offers me the second cup.
I smell it.
Nothing unusual.
Simone rolls her eyes.
“If he wanted to kill us, he could have left us on the beach.”
“People use poison for many reasons.”
“You’re ruining tea.”
I drink.
Heat spreads through my chest and settles against the ache in my ribs.
Brock hands us the food.
“The nurse comes after sunrise. She will look at your injuries.”
Then his attention moves toward my pistol resting beside me.
“Keep that hidden. Some people here will not like it.”
“I’ll keep it close.”
He nods as though he expected no other answer.
“We speak later.”
After he leaves, Simone tears into the bread.
She finishes her portion before I’m halfway through mine.
I slide the remaining cheese toward her.
Her eyes narrow.
“You need food too.”
“I ate yesterday.”
“So did I.”
“You had half a ration bar.”
“All of it, actually.”
“I remember.”
“Then stop trying to starve yourself heroically.”
“I’m not.”
She breaks my remaining bread in half and pushes part toward me.
“There. Equality.”
I take it.
“Happy?”
“No. But less irritated.”
When we finish, she removes my jacket and holds it out.
“Put this on.”
“You’re cold.”
“So are you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You left yours drying beside the fire when we followed Brock here.
”She presses the jacket against my chest.
“Wear it.”
Her fingers touch my skin.
Heat spreads instantly from the contact.
My mind returns to the car.
Her nails in my shoulders.
Her hips moving over mine.
The sounds she made when she came.
Simone’s hands remain against me.
“You’re the only person I know here,” she says. “I can’t have you dying of hypothermia.”
I close one hand around both her wrists.
Her breath catches.
“There are consequences to touching me like this.”
Her pulse accelerates beneath my fingers.
She lifts her chin.
“What kind of consequences?”
“Nothing you wouldn’t enjoy.”
The air changes.
Her lips part slightly.
I release her wrists, but neither of us moves.
I lean closer.
She remains still as my mouth passes beside her cheek.
The small jewel in her ear is cold against my lip.
“Move,” I whisper.
Her breathing stutters.
“What?”
“You’re taking up the entire bed.”
I draw back.
Simone blinks.
Once.
Twice.
Then color spreads across her face.
“You could have said that.”
“I did.”
A smile threatens my control.
She scoots toward the wall, muttering something insulting under her breath.
I remove the pistol from beside the bed and place it within reach beneath my side of the pillow.
Then I lie down beside her.
The mattress is too narrow for both of us.
Our shoulders touch.
So do our thighs.
Simone stares at the ceiling with exaggerated concentration.
I close my eyes.
“You did that on purpose,” she says after several seconds.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“You threatened me, whispered in my ear, and then told me to move.”
“I needed space.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I’ve heard that too.”
Silence settles over the room.
Beyond the shuttered window, waves strike the rocks. Floorboards creak somewhere deeper inside the cottage.
Simone shifts.
Her arm presses more firmly against mine.
Neither of us moves away.
“We’re really stuck here for three days,” she murmurs.
“At most.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can promise I’ll find another option if the supply boat doesn’t arrive.”
She turns her head toward me.
“And the pilot?”
“I’ll find him too.”
“That isn’t reassuring.”
“It should be.”
“Why?”
I open my eyes.
She’s watching me from only inches away.
Brown eyes circled with gold.
Fear carefully hidden behind irritation.
“Because he had one opportunity to kill us,” I say. “He failed.”
“And if he tries again?”
My voice lowers.
“He’ll have to come through me.”
Her gaze drops toward my mouth.
Then she settles onto her back again.
The room is quiet for another moment.
“Stay close,” she whispers.
I don’t know whether she means while we’re in the village, while we search for the pilot, or only while we lie together in this narrow bed.
It doesn’t matter.
“I will.”