Chapter Fifty-Four Ella
Chapter Fifty-Four
Ella
After making myself a sandwich for lunch, I head to the beach for a swim and a paddle. The water is wonderfully refreshing, and I let myself float in the crystal-clear sea, soaking in the peace and quiet.
I decide to explore the bay a little farther and climb back onto the paddleboard. No waves break here, making balancing easy. That changes the closer I get to the mouth of the bay.
As I reach the open stretch, I hear shouting behind me. I glance over my shoulder and spot Alonso onshore, waving and calling out something I can’t make out.
What now?
Trying to maneuver around to see what he wants, I shift my weight too quickly. A wave catches the board at the wrong angle, and I lose my balance. Arms flailing, I hit the water hard and go under.
Salt floods my mouth and nose before I can react. My sinuses burn instantly, as do my eyes, and I squeeze them shut and grope blindly for the board. Nothing.
Panic flares. I kick hard and break the surface, dragging in a breath. Another swell rolls over me, tugging me under again and leaving me disoriented.
Then strong arms wrap around my waist and haul me up.
Alonso.
Thank God.
Though technically, he’s the reason I fell in.
He guides me back to the paddleboard and lifts my arms onto it while I gulp air, trying to steady my breathing.
“You okay?” he shouts.
I manage a nod.
That’s when I realize I’m topless.
Oh no.
I definitely don’t need Alonso seeing my boobs. At least we’re still in the water.
But where the hell is my bikini top? I must have lost it when I hit the surface.
“Why did you shout at me? What’s wrong?”
“There was a yacht too close to the island, and you were out in the open. I don’t know their intentions. I wanted you back at shore.”
“You could have come out on the jet ski instead of yelling at me,” I say, still catching my breath. I glance around. There’s no sign of anyone else. “And where is this yacht?”
“It’s moved on. Come. Let’s get you to shore.”
Alonso hasn’t yet registered my predicament and starts guiding me toward the jet ski. He climbs on and extends a hand to pull me up.
“I can’t,” I tell him.
He frowns. “Why?”
“I lost my top.”
“Oh.” His gaze snaps straight ahead.
I bite back a smile. The big, burly security detail is visibly flustered by my semi-nudity.
If he could, he’d probably offer me his shirt. Unfortunately, he’s only wearing board shorts. His broad, wet chest gleams in the sun.
To be fair, it’s an impressive chest.
Looking determinedly forward, he stretches out his arm again. “I won’t look. Let me help you up.”
“Can you see my top anywhere?” I ask.
He scans the water, then shakes his head. “No. It’s gone.”
Great.
He ties the paddleboard to the jet ski and then offers me his hand again. I take it. I’m not swimming back to shore like this.
With a careful breath, I let him pull me up. I perch behind him, keeping as much distance as possible.
Hmm, where do I put my hands?
He starts the engine before I can make up my mind.
The jet ski jerks forward.
I yelp and promptly slide backward into the water.
For a split second, there’s silence. Then Alonso swears loudly.
I surface, sputtering and laughing despite myself.
“Maybe ease into it?” I call.
We try again.
“Hold on to me,” he says, voice tight.
Reluctantly, I place my hands on his hips. It feels oddly intimate, even under the circumstances. I’m fairly certain Tiero wouldn’t love this image.
We make it back to shore without further incident.
“My towel’s by the daybed,” I say. “I’ll grab it. Just… don’t look.”
“I won’t,” Alonso mutters, staring firmly at the horizon.
I hurry across the sand and wrap the towel tightly around myself before giving him the all clear.
He dismounts the jet ski.
A sharp curse splits the air.
Blood seeps into the shallow water around his foot.
“What happened?” I ask, hurrying to his side as he limps onto the sand.
“I cut my foot on a shell.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake.
What else could possibly go wrong today?
“Let’s get you to the house. There has to be a first-aid kit there.”
We make our way up the path, and I settle him onto a lounger and rush inside to find something to clean and bandage the wound.
Alonso hisses as I rinse the cut. Blood still seeps from it, and I focus very hard on being useful rather than queasy.
“Can we not mention any of this to the boss?” he asks carefully.
I try to suppress my smile.
“Works for me,” I say. “I don’t think Tiero needs to hear that you saw me semi-naked.”
“I didn’t see anything,” he adds too quickly.
That makes me laugh. Teasing these big, burly men is actually fun.
“You need to stay off that foot for a while,” I tell him once the bandage is secure. “Do you want to play cards?”
He looks genuinely surprised but nods.
I search the house and come back empty-handed, at least as far as cards are concerned. Instead, I return with a packet of brightly colored stacking cups I found tucked away in a cupboard.
Tiero must have bought these for me.
I only mentioned speed stacking once, yet he remembered.
A ripple of happiness moves through me, impossible to suppress.
“I couldn’t find cards,” I say, lifting the cups with a smile. “But I found something better.”
He stares at me blankly.
“Speed stacking cups,” I explain. “I’m going to teach you.”
For the next hour, I show Alonso the sequences, building pyramids, collapsing them, racing the clock. He turns out to be an eager student. We even laugh a few times, and I catch a glimpse of a lighter side to the usually stoic man. It suits him.
Eventually, he excuses himself, saying he needs to get back to the security feeds.
I pick up my book again.
Now, where was I?
The rest of the day passes without further incidents. While I’m enjoying the quiet, thoughts of Tiero are never far away. I wonder what he’s doing and if he’s calmed down.
What made him so angry?
Did a business deal go sour? Would that be enough for Tiero to lose his cool like that? Actually, he didn’t lose it. Even in his anger, he was composed.
He just looked ready to let heads roll to fix whatever went wrong.
I spend the next few hours stretched out on the daybed by the beach and finish the mafia romance I started on the flight to Sicily.
Why is it that the women in these books always fold for the criminals they meet? They swear they want nothing to do with that world, yet the moment they fall in love, they accept the violence, the power plays, the moral gray.
Don’t people have a backbone?
Those scenarios seem so unrealistic. Surely love doesn’t rewrite your moral compass that easily.
On paper, it’s undeniably hot when the possessive Don stakes his claim and declares the heroine his and his alone.
In real life, though, being treated like a possession would lose its appeal very quickly.
I pull a cold bottle of water from the cooler and take a long sip when I hear the distant chop of rotor blades.
I look up.
Against the streaked reds and molten gold of the setting sun, a dark speck appears in the sky, growing steadily larger.
He’s back.
Tiero has been gone most of the day, and if I’m honest, the quiet did me good. My body certainly appreciated the reprieve.
Still, as the helicopter circles lower, something inside me settles like a bruise.
I stay on the beach rather than attempt to find the heliport. I wouldn’t know the way anyway.
God, I hope everything is all right.
The helicopter touches down somewhere beyond the trees. The roar softens, then swells again as the rotors gather force.
It rises once more, the sound sweeping over the island before fading into the distance.
Silence stretches.
Then I feel it.
A familiar heat spreads through my body, and the air shifts.
It always happens when he is near.
Moments later, he steps onto the sand.
He is still in his suit.
Even from a distance, I can see that whatever happened today has not left him. It clings to him. It’s in the way he moves. Like a coiled lion ready to pounce.
Our eyes meet.
Something dark flickers there.
He walks toward me slowly.
He unbuttons his jacket first and lets it fall. Then his tie. His shirt. Each piece discarded without breaking eye contact.
My pulse stumbles, then kicks harder.
There is something deliberate in the way he watches me as he undresses.
Heat crawls up my spine. My mouth goes dry.
He is unfairly beautiful. All sharp lines and powerful shoulders, sun-warmed skin and quiet dominance.
And he is walking toward me like I am the only destination that matters.
By the time he reaches me, he is bare skin and contained fire.
The intensity rolling off him steals the air from my lungs. A tremor moves low through my body, anticipation tightening every nerve.
He stops close enough that I feel his warmth before he touches me.
My body already knows what will happen next, liquid desire pooling low and hot in my core.
He grips my jaw and kisses me hard, like he needs to burn the day out of his system. His mouth is demanding, urgent. There is an edge to him I’ve not felt before.
My hands slide over his chest and down his abdomen, feeling the tension still humming beneath his skin.
A shiver runs through me.
His hands move over me with possession, firm enough to remind me of this morning.
The air between us becomes more charged, and when he pulls back, his breath is uneven, his eyes blazing.
Tiero takes my face into his hands and looks into my eyes with unsettling sincerity.
“I want to feel you bare, princess,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I want nothing between us.”
My body stills.
For a split second, everything inside me locks, and I drop my gaze.
I didn’t see this coming.
He has never pushed before. Not like this.
I know plenty of men dislike condoms, but Tiero has never made it an issue. Until now.
His fingers curl under my chin, lifting my face again. I have no choice but to meet his eyes.
He is watching me. Waiting.
I open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
How do I say no without shattering this moment?
I need this last barrier between us.
Otherwise, it would be too intimate. This sort of thing is only for the man I’m in a deeply committed relationship with.
“I know you’re on the pill,” he continues quietly. “And I’m clean. I have never had unprotected sex. Not once.”
His thumb brushes my lower lip.
“I want all of you, Ella.”