Chapter 11

Danielle

I rock back and forth, back and forth, swaddled in warmth and comfort, apart from my throat. God, it burns. It’s so sore I wince with every inhale. The gentle sound of water against wood brings me right out of a dream—a good one.

Holden between my legs, eating me, his forever-ocean gaze fixed on me as I come.

But that wasn’t a dream, it truly happened.

My eyelids snap open and I groan, clutch my head.

It hurts. I feel as if I’ve been dragged backward through the waves.

Technically, that’s true.

“Holden?” I croak and struggle upward, palms flat to the mattress of the single bed in the cabin. There’s a porthole above my head, but other than that, there’s no light. Sunlight graces the wall opposite, illuminating a patch of empty white wall. “Holden?” I repeat.

No answer.

The last thing I recall is coming on his fingers, then flopping backward.

Shit, I fell asleep. I fell asleep right after he made me orgasm. I’m such a dick.

I didn’t return the favor for him, but then, he could’ve stuck around and cuddled me.

My head throbs, and I groan again and press my palm to my temple. There’s got to be an aspirin in this cabin, because if there isn’t, I might just pass the fuck out again.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and place them on the boards below. The boat rocks, but it’s not as bad as out at sea. I rise, unsteadily then make my way toward the door a few feet from the base of the bed.

I’m naked from the waist up—Holden must’ve pulled my bikini bottoms into place after—but I can’t care right now.

“Must have aspirin,” I grunt and immediately regret it.

I wrench the door open, stumble, and hold myself upright, then squint at the glare. It’s still daytime, but the sun is higher, at its zenith. It’s noon or slight past it. I make my way up the stairs, wobbling on fawn legs, then stand on the deck and look around.

We’re docked back on Mystique Island.

People laugh and joke around nearby, running around in the surf or fucking on the sands. The boardwalks between boats and yachts are largely empty apart from a couple avid sailors or lovers.

No Holden in sight. What the hell? Did he leave me here?

I blink and try clearing my head, but it doesn’t work. I need that damn aspirin, like yesterday, and there’s definitely some back in my villa. I’ll have to hoof it.

If Holden couldn’t hang around and wait for me to wake up, I wouldn’t give him the same courtesy. Damn, I’m so done with his hot and cold behavior. It’s driving me crazy.

He saves me from the ocean, then screams at me. Makes me come, then leaves before I wake up.

Maybe the pain in my head isn’t from nearly drowning but from him whiplashing me the fuck around.

I get off the boat and stride down the boardwalk, the planks thundering beneath my bare feet, and I grimace with each step. It’s not just my head that aches, but my legs are weak and watery, as well.

What a perfect damn day. Half-drowned, eaten out, then abandoned.

“Get over it,” I mutter. I’m on the brink of accepting that this is simply the way it’s going to be. He’s going to want me but reject me constantly, and I’m going to… ugh, I have no idea what, yet.

I track across the sand, and a couple turns and watches me pass. The guy is balls deep in his lady, their masks still fixed to their faces. He thrusts real slow and she moans, cups her breast and grins at me. She’s got that come-hither look going on.

I quicken my pace and finally hit the shade of the palm trees. I walk between them, and the coolness soothes my headache a little. I’m still not clear to think about anything serious, though, so I avoid the mental topic of Holden all together.

Five minutes of walking, and I reach my villa. I let myself into the coolness, shut the door behind me then make a beeline for the bathroom and the little medicine cabinet affixed to its wall.

I rip a bottle of the good stuff down and fiddle with the kiddie-proof cap. “Fuck.” My fingers slip on it again and again. “Oh my god, I’m over twenty. I swear to god! Let me in.” Finally, I get it off and crunch two of the suckers between my teeth.

I relish the bitterness, then bend and drink water straight from the faucet. It gurgles down my throat and I sigh. “That’s the stuff.”

It’s as if I left the villa five days ago, not this morning. The entire event has traumatized me a little. My stomach grumbles.

So much for trauma, I’m starving.

I straighten and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is mussed by the salt and breeze, and it sticks up weird at the side from the way I slept on the boat. Shower first, food after.

I start up the shower and admire the open plan of it, the glass walls, and the space. There’s even a seat along the only tiled wall. I step inside, go over to it, sit down, and let the water wash over me. The heat is delicious. It soaks through my skin and bones, and I remove my golden bikini bottom and toss it aside.

I massage soap over my skin, work it into a lather and wash off, then do the same with shampoo in my hair.

Twenty minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom in a robe, on a cloud of steam.

I’m still not thinking about Holden Long or New York or my plans for the future.

I’m on autopilot. Food. Food. Food.

I hit the kitchen and open the fridge, grinning at the array of delicacies. It’s fully stacked with fruit, vegetables, cool drinks, whipped cream, chocolate syrup, caramel… Anything I could want.

I’m drooling already.

I take out strawberries, pineapple, raspberries, chocolate syrup, and whipped cream. The pineapple is already cut into bite-sized pieces. Gosh, I could get used to living here.

I load all of it onto a tray and grab a bottle of water, too, then walk it through to the open living area. I set it down on the coffee table then lower myself to the sofa.

“Where to start,” I mutter. I reach for a strawberry.

A knock bangs against the front door of the villa and I freeze, a frown wrinkling my brow. So far, I haven’t been disturbed here. It’s a long weekend, and the owners of this place seem set on keeping it as peaceful as possible.

I bite my lip, tummy still growling, then rise from my seat and trundle over to the door. I unlock it and open up.

Holden stands on the doorstep.

He’s changed out of his shorts and shirt and into a pair of slacks and a button down. The mask is back in place, and his turquoise eyes blaze behind the mask. “I’ve been looking for you,” he says. “Where did you disappear to?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” I reply and narrow my eyes at his gruffness. Possessive then soft, hot for me then cold as a wet fish. I’m so over being jerked around, but it’s him. It’s Holden.

“May I come in?”

I hesitate. If I let him in… what? We’ll have sex, and I’ll be even more confused.

But how can I complain? I came here hoping he’d find me or vice versa. That we’d have some fantastic sex and then return to our normal lives. Now, it seems crazy. A terrible idea.

Regardless, I step back and let Holden inside.

He sweeps past me, his scent lemony and sharp, rather than the spice from the boat. He’s changeable in so many ways, and it’s alarming as hell.

“Eating?” he asks.

“Yeah, well, almost drowning took it out of me, you know? That and you making me come on your boat, then abandoning me there.” I can’t help the accusation in my tone.

Holden stiffens. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He clenches his fists, then releases them again. “Let me make it up to you.”