Problematic Summer Romance (Not in Love, #2)(70)
“I just wake up. It’s like my body knows where you are, at any given moment.” He smiles, a little wistful. His finger starts on my collarbone, traces my shoulder, descends down the little bulge of my biceps.
I shiver.
“Stay close,” he repeats.
And then he wades in.
* * *
It’s a quick swim. Save for a brief stretch right in the central part of the sandbar, it barely qualifies. In no more than a couple of minutes we’re on the island, and Tiny…
Tiny, who’s really trying my patience, barks several times, then disappears behind a dry-stone wall.
“Tiny, wait!” But he doesn’t. “Well, shit.”
The island is something out of a movie, made of large rocks stacked upon each other, winding vertically toward a historic house. Lush and resilient, the trees grow everywhere: on top of and between the boulders, across the uneven stone paths, down the cliff’s slopes, inside hidden alcoves. My travel guide had a few pages about the history of the place, and I know that in the nineteenth century, a conservationist fell in love with it and decided to build a small villa in its center. She didn’t just preserve the vegetation that was already on the island, but also planted nonnative species.
Maybe that’s why it looks just a little out of place, and much less civilized than the rest of the Ionian coast. The spots we’ve visited so far, the restaurants and landmarks, and even Villa Fedra, with its neatly terraced lawns and well-kept groves, are orderly and sophisticated. Isola Bella, on the other hand, is a colorful, tangled jungle, a nature reserve bursting with shrubs and succulents and exotic flowers that could never be found beyond the confines of the sandbar. The island is now owned by the Sicilian government, but even with constant upkeep, everything feels overgrown and a little too cramped. It’s like the flora refuses to stop spreading just to give us mere mortals access to its wonders.
Isola Bella is a pleasure garden, and it cannot be contained.
“God, I missed this place,” Conor says, hushed despite the fact that we’re alone. He had the excellent sense to carry my flip-flops and his Birkenstocks. The rocks on the soil are sharp. Without them, our feet would be torn to shreds.
“Is it possible that it’s not open to visitors?” I was under the impression that we’d be able to walk deep into the island, but I spot a door carved inside the rock, and a ticketing office sign. Pink and purple bougainvillea grow all around its door. Unfortunately, we cannot reach it. Because it’s past a closed iron gate.
Somehow, so is Tiny.
“I think the whole area might be. Most people get here via the cable car,” Conor says, pointing behind us at the gondolas parked all the way up the hill. “Today they don’t seem to be running.”
“Because of the volcano?” Mount Etna’s column of smoke and fire is clearly visible from where we stand. Occasionally, it even growls.
“That, or because it’s supposed to storm.”
“Shit.” I eye the gate. It’s shorter than me, and climbing it would be a piece of cake, if it weren’t for those sharp pikes at the top. “Do you think we can—”
Conor’s hands are already around my waist, lifting me over the iron bars. I briefly see myself impaled on one or more of the pikes, rivulets of blood mixing to little chunks of bowels as they trickle out of me. I prepare to scream, cry, perhaps throw up on Conor. Before I get a chance, though, he deposits me on the other side, and joins me with a simple, sleek jump.
I take a few deep breaths and watch him wipe his hands clean against his shorts, trying not to stare. This—being here, alone, with him. The illicitness of trespassing private property. The fact that we’re both close to naked. All of it together, it’s…a lot. “Color me impressed by your athleticism, old man.”
His look is withering. “When my geriatric joints require surgery, I’ll make sure to bill your insurance.”
“I’m still on Eli’s, who is on Harkness’s.” I realize something. “Which means that you pay for my birth control. Isn’t that fascinating?”
He grunts, noncommittal. Murmurs something about the superiority of universal healthcare.
I adjust the twisted strap of my bralette and add, “You’re welcome to start taking advantage of your money’s worth any day.”
It takes a lot longer than it should, but I can spot the exact moment my meaning sinks in. He is too…bare, to hide the way his every muscle winds tight.
“Maya.”
“Yeah?”
He shakes his head roughly. “You cannot say that to me.”
“Really?” I tilt my head. Dimple up at him. “Is there a law, or something?” I don’t wait for an answer before turning around. “Tiny! Tiny? Come here, baby!”
It’s starting to drizzle. We follow beaten tracks, climb over a couple of increasingly slick rocks, and it soon becomes apparent that Tiny is having way too much fun being chased by us. I call him, but he never listens to me. Eli may be his boss, but I’m his peer, and any demand I might make of him is little more than a polite suggestion. “Tiny, will you please come?”
He doesn’t. We venture toward the center of the island, swatting away bugs, and the rain grows heavier. Conor walks ahead of me, constantly looking back to make sure I haven’t slipped and cracked my skull on a jagged piece of rock. I roll my eyes every time, but when I trip over an exposed root, he catches me with a hand over my rib cage, and his eyebrow arches.