Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
LEXI
Ihave a pounding headache, and if I don’t go rinse off the morning’s heat soon, I might snarl at someone.
At St Chalamet I used to run in heels in a temperature-controlled, five-star-plus environment.
This morning has been a rollercoaster ride in a tumble dryer.
I’m wrung out, parched, and sick to my stomach after gobbling down my lunch.
Miriam seems to take it all in stride. She’s environmentally fit, whereas I’m feeling my New York fall. My time in Miami was a blip of air conditioning and cooling off in Evan’s swimming pool with a mojito in my hand. Nothing like this. I didn’t appreciate it enough while I had it.
Miriam took me to see the office I’ll be working from, and there I found the holy internet I’d been missing like a freshly pulled tooth.
She gave me ten minutes to email Evan, Mom, and Tessa, which I did in no time.
Then, after spending two minutes searching for Mia Reed and sex scandal and only getting old hits, I exhaled, feeling I’d been saved for another day.
I didn’t have time to linger, though, as Miriam was on a mission this morning to explain how every last thing works.
Luckily nothing is new. Things may work differently from St Chalamet, but they’re not unfamiliar.
The office assistant, Jem Shabani, who’s been here since Ne’emba’s construction thirty years ago when she started as a nanny, has slowly moved up the ranks and knows everything in and out.
It’s going to be fine. In fact, everything is so fine, I feel like a lost extra on stage with no real purpose.
After lunch we go over the details of the first wedding party, which arrives in a couple days.
This is no simple destination wedding. It’s over-the-top luxury.
Everything is being flown in from all over, and it’s a logistical nightmare.
For such a small venue, this place does things with a big bang.
Jem holds all the strings, though, and she’s not going to drop a single ball.
In the heat of the day, there seems to be a siesta break, so I’m off to our cottage for a second shower.
I hate sweating and can’t stand the idea of seeing guests in a less-than-pristine uniform.
I received several sets, and at least the clothes are practical—a sand-colored mini skirt, Bermuda shorts, or capri pants and sleeveless button-down cotton shirts with light brown leather sandals.
Not quite St Chalamet, but it works with the island vibe.
I haven’t seen Tristan at all since this morning’s coffee, and while half of me misses him, the other half is sighing in relief.
The less I see of him, the better. I haven’t been able to procure an extra mosquito net, as the question only raised the head housekeeper’s eyebrows to her hairline.
“Why?” she asked. “Did you rip yours? Already?”
The accusatory tone of that question shut me right down. “No, I was just wondering—”
“For guest rooms we’ll source during the year if necessary, but for staff, we stitch them. The nets are tailormade in Nairobi. We don’t order them and have them delivered the next day, you know? This isn’t America.”
Okey dokey. I backed right off.
“Tristan?” I call as I approach our cottage to make sure I’m alone.
No answer. I kick off my sandals, rinse my feet in the foot basin, and walk inside.
Someone has cleaned the room, and the place looks immaculate.
Chances of privacy here? Sub-zero. I can be a bit OCD when it comes to clean and neat rooms, but a pair of discarded shoes and a bra hooked over the back of the chair would be welcome right now.
Anything to provide that baseline home-comfort look over this feeling of constantly being watched and cleaned up after.
I toss the tube of anti-itch ointment I got from the hotel’s boutique onto the sofa, out of habit check my phone where I left it on my nightstand for messages, roll my eyes at the zero-internet situation, and continue to strip all the way to the shower where I open the faucet.
The cool water is a soothing balm, and I drop my head back with a moan.
The guest rooms have glass-rimmed infinity plunge pools; we have the ocean and a cold shower. Thank God. And at some point, I’ll take a bath in that tub that’s made for two. I stand under the spray for too long, and then remind myself, desalination takes time. Ugh.
I step out of the shower, feeling loads better, if still woozy and tired with dragging jet lag that won’t give up.
My headache has eased. It’s easy to dehydrate here, but guzzling a liter of water over lunch seems to have sorted me out.
I don’t bother to dry off, but instead knot a towel above my boobs and walk into the bedroom.
The first thing I see is that my trail of clothes has been picked up, and the bits and pieces are hanging neatly over the back of the sofa. Now that’s extra.
But then I spot long legs stretched out on the bed—long, muscular legs that end in feet I’ve come to love because they’re sexy.
Tristan. A soft groan slips from my lips before I can stop it.
“Babes.” He sounds halfway asleep already. He can’t see me from where I’m standing in the alcove that leads to the dressing area and bathroom.
“Are you decent?” The last thing I need is to walk in on Tristan naked or getting down to man business.
“Yup. Just taking a nap.”
“Okay.” So not okay. My suitcase, still unpacked, is on the floor, the lid closed but with garments spilling out the sides. “Don’t mind me.”
I tiptoe over to my suitcase, overly conscious that I’m naked underneath the towel. My heart rate ticks up. Tristan has seen me in a bikini, which is technically less than this, but only a towel is different. It’s a flailing grip away from being naked.
I don’t look in his direction but drop to my haunches to rummage through my clothes.
I’m not getting back into a uniform until four when I need to check in with Miriam again.
I dig out a swimsuit cover-up, which is the coolest piece I have, plus some fresh underwear.
It’ll have to do. I get up slowly, making sure the towel covers my butt and is still fitting tight around my boobs.
My breathing is slow now—I can feel Tristan’s eyes on me.
All I want to do is rush back to the bathroom to get dressed, but I look up to find him staring at me.
He might be half asleep, but his eyes are taking in everything.
For a moment, I’m almost hypnotized as his gaze roams over my body, setting my blood on fire.
He’s looked at me like that once before.
“Is that a blush or a sunburn, babes?”
With a swallow, I glance at my bare shoulders, which were exposed in the sleeveless shirt, only to see lobster-red skin. “Oh God.” We spent time walking in the sun, and it’s a bitch here.
“Your face is red too,” he says softly.
That would be a blush. My moisturizer has an SPF 50 sunscreen. I’ll have to spread it everywhere.
“Where else did you burn, hmm?”
Is he daring me to drop the towel so he can have a full inspection of my body?
I suck in a slow breath. “It’s okay. I’ll put on sunscreen.” I reach for the tube of anti-itch stuff on the sofa. “I’m not sure how good this it, but I got it for you at the boutique.”
Tristan sits up, and it’s as if the cottage shrinks. “Thanks. You’ll have to help me on my back. Some of these bites have been driving me nuts with my wetsuit.”
“Sure. I’m going to get dressed.” I stalk back to the bathroom side of the room and hesitate before dropping the towel to the floor. Crap. Why am I fantasizing about Tristan watching me? Looking at me with that thirst in his eyes?
I get dressed and feel less exposed as I return to the bedroom. He hasn’t moved and is still lying on his back, eyes closed. “Tris?” If he’s sleeping, I’m not going to wake him.
“Still here. Barely.”
“Okay.”
He’s tossed the ointment onto my side of the bed, and it’s been opened and amply used. I kneel on the bed and reach for it. This is the most intimate situation we’ve been in. I breathe. He smells fresh, and his hair is still moist. “Where did you shower?”
“At the dive center. They have an indoor and outdoor shower there.”
“Oh.” I haven’t been to the dive center. “You’ve put ointment everywhere else?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Tristan rolls onto his stomach.
His back looks like a minefield. I’m not sure what we’re doing tonight, but I can’t subject him to this again.
“Don threatened me with malaria and dengue fever.”
My hands still as I squeeze ointment onto a fingertip. “He did?”
“Uh-huh.”
Shit. I swallow as I smear ointment over a badly scratched bite.
Touching him feels almost sinful, it’s so delicious.
I have to steer my naughty thoughts away from the muscles on his back, the deep groove of his spine, and the slow, unaffected way his body rises and falls as he breathes, as if this has zero effect on him.
“How was the diving?” I ask, not sure he’s even awake anymore.
“Phenomenal.”
I smile. “Yeah?”
“This is it for me, Lexi. This is changing the ballgame completely. Now I just need time.”
My hand trails up his back, where there are bites he wasn’t able to reach.
I have to stop myself from making my caresses sexual, because it’s so easy to slip into that frame of mind.
Worst of all, I want to slip into that frame of mind…
I want to go there. Get a grip. “Good.” Three more bites and I pull away. “I’m done.”
He groans and mutters something under his breath.
Was that a don’t stop? Oh God. I wait quietly for more, wanting to touch him again but also wanting to run away. I’m still torn when a soft snore shatters the moment.
Tristan has fallen asleep; whether for real or whether he’s faking it, I don’t know. But he’s saved me from myself, and not for the first time. I sink back against the pillows and stare at the fan that’s stirring the heavy, humid air.
I’m fucked. I have been for five years. And not in the way I want to be.