From the pages of the book…

Rock song played on my headphones while I lay in bed, gazing at my ceiling and humming to the tune.

The door slamming against my wall snapped me out of nirvana, and I sent Olivia an annoyed glance.

Her mouth opened and she kept saying something, but I couldn't hear a thing over the music blaring in my ears.

Heaven.

Her eyes narrowed as she exhaled heavily. Then she jumped on the bed, removed my headphones, and finally her loud, screechy voice penetrated my ears. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? Listening to music.”

“It’s five o’clock!” she screamed again, and I shrugged.

“So?” She was acting all kinds of crazy. “Babe, are you high?” I got away in time to prevent her picking up a pillow and smacking me in the face with it. “Hey, I’m recovering from a concussion here.”

Olivia smirked. “Yeah, right. It’s been eight days. You’re fine.”

I walked toward the window and opened it up to let in fresh air, or maybe just to distract myself from the conversation at hand.

“Em,” Olivia snapped, and I rolled my eyes.

“What? What’s so important about the timing?”

“You have a date tonight.”

Excuse me? “What date?”

“With Brochan. You know, the hot hunk who carried you in his arms to the hospital. That Brochan.”

Oh, we had a very different definition of the word date then. “I’m not going.”

Her jaw almost hit the bed. “Are you nuts?”

“Just drop it.”

“He invited you—”

Were we back at it? I thought we’d covered all the explanations yesterday.

“He didn’t. He had to do it, because Nona was up his ass for him to properly apologize. The last thing I need is some pity evening out.” Really, why didn’t anyone understand why all this shit didn't work for me? I tried to spare him humiliation and an uncomfortable encounter. Brochan wasn't the one who hurt me, so it wasn't fair for him to suffer from it.

“Come on, who cares? You’ll spend some time with him.” She clasped her hands together and sighed dreamily.

“I care. So I’m not going.” Ignoring my words, she jumped from the bed, opened up my closet, and ran her fingers over every hanger while inspecting my clothes.

Shouting “Yes!” she took out my navy strapless dress that reached my knees and kept my body cooler during the heat. Grabbing brown sandals and a small purse, she spun around and threw it all on the bedside chair. “Em, change now.” She waved nervously. “He can’t see you like this.”

Glancing down, I wondered what was so offensive about my jean shorts and white top. My bare feet had a gold anklet, and my hair was in a ponytail held in place by the pencil I used to draw with.

Folding my arms, I raised my chin stubbornly. “I won’t. Nona will tell him I’m not in the mood.”

Olivia grabbed my arm and pushed me toward the chair, but I dug my heels into the carpet and didn't budge, so she had to wrestle me. With a loud thud, we ended up on the floor. When my elbow dug painfully into her stomach, she screeched, “Ouch!” then her knee hit my thigh, and we probably would have continued had it not been for the voice.

His freaking husky voice!

“Hi.”

Olivia and I stopped at once, and we rose so quickly I wondered how my head didn't spin. We both breathed heavily and our hair was all over the place, not to mention we had to straighten our shirts.

Brochan stood there, wearing white shorts and shirt, along with boat shoes. His messy blond hair was made into a bun, and he had sunglasses on his head.

One word, people.

Hot.

Surprisingly, he’d brought Donovan with him, who held a bouquet of tulips in his hands and extended them to me. It didn't escape my notice how Olivia’s eyes watched him closely, or his sideways glance toward her.

“Thanks.”

Donovan winked at me, clearly pleased I held no grudge.

“Hi,” I finally said to Brochan and then cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, but Nona was supposed to cancel the movie. Didn't she?”

Brochan nodded. “She did. But we aren't going to a movie.”

What? I shook my head. This dude could be really stubborn when he put his mind to something! “Doesn’t really matter, as you see—”

He shifted his focus, completely ignoring my words, and then looked at Olivia, sending her a gentle smile in the process. She instantly giggled, the traitor. “Could you please leave us alone for a moment?”

She was all too happy to comply and grabbed her bag from the floor then poked her finger in Donovan’s chest. “Wanna walk me downstairs?” Without further words, he followed her and the door closed after them, leaving us alone.

Shifting nervously, I tried to think about all the reasons going out with him was a bad idea, which was freaking hard to do when I had all his handsome glory in front of me.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Why are you so adamant about not going out with me?”

Pushing my hair back up, I exhaled loudly and decided to just go with the truth, because he didn't seem like a guy who tolerated, or liked for that matter, bullshit. “Brochan, you don’t have to do this. It wasn't even you who hit me. Go and enjoy your life.” There, finally I said it and exhaled in relief.

Instead of being happy about my rejection though, he rested his back against the door, crossed his legs, and folded his arms, emphasizing how muscled they were. Probably hit the gym often. “Emerald, you don’t know me well.”

Blinking a few times, I said the only appropriate word that came to me. “Huh?”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, as he replied, “I always do whatever I want to do. Let’s go.” Before I could answer, he took my hand in his and pushed me toward the door.

“Where are we going then?” I really tried to ignore his warm hand on my back and the sensations that ran through my body, sensations I had no freaking idea existed before meeting him.

Was this the whole sexual desire thing that girls spoke about, but no boy inspired in me before?

“You’ll see,” he whispered in my ear.

Oh my God.

The date was happening after all.

Island, United States

July 2019

Emerald

My fingers halt above the keyboard when the knock on the door echoes through the space, and I place the laptop on the bed.

Tightening the belt on my white bathrobe—which seriously surprises me, considering this inn has been running for over two decades and it’s still crystal white—I open the door wide and greet the young teenager on the other side with a smile. “Hi, ma’am. Your food is ready.”

Stepping to the side, I allow him to come inside, as he asks, “Would you like for me to place it on the table, or should I just leave it here?”

“Here’s fine.” Despite the fact that I haven’t eaten for the last seven hours, I’m not hungry. Weird, because if there’s food around, I always munch on it, but how can I think about it right now?

Instead, all my thoughts are occupied with the stranger from the ocean. Something about his voice, his posture… disturbs my mind on more levels than one.

Not to mention his parting words to me. It’s almost as if he mocked my statement about not knowing how to swim. In fact, with how much he ignored me after the incident and his behavior toward Peter, I wonder why he even bothered to save me in the first place.

It’s clear as day he isn’t a nice guy.

The waiter’s expectant gaze snaps me back from my thoughts, and I say, “I’m sorry. Lost myself in my thoughts.” I dig out money from the pocket and give it to him.

He excitedly takes it, and with a nod leaves, but then it dawns on me. “Excuse me!” I call after him, and he turns to me and I barely contain a gasp.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was a living version of Donovan in my head. He’s probably the same age as my character. “Do you know if there are any good restaurants nearby where I could work?” I decide not to mention that I’m writing a book, because sometimes locals can be very suspicious of such stuff.

I don’t want anyone thinking I’m on the hunt for some news or try to display their town in a bad light.

Or worse… what if some people start to recognize themselves in the stories? I imagine a lot of them had summer flings over the years.

“Oh, you need to stop by Eve’s place then.” He grins. “My name is Joe, by the way. She’s my sister-in-law, so I’m a bit biased, but she cooks the best pancakes you’ll ever try anywhere in the world.”

“Do you have an address for that?” He quickly scribbles it on the notepad he carries in his back pocket and tears it, giving it to me. “She’s open till like ten at night, so you are always welcome.”

“Thank you,” I reply, and with a last salute, he runs to the stairs with his loud steps shaking the wall. This place is seriously old, yet I can’t help but feel at home here.

Peter almost had another heart attack when I refused to stay in some modern house Kaden rented for me for the summer, and instead, I opted for the inn located near the beach, surrounded by palm trees giving it mysterious charm.

Various paths lead to different alcoves and benches, all while the old Victorian house made out of the finest brick stands right in the middle. Its massive roof gives it even more of a powerful and dominant presence.

I researched it online, and the minute my eyes landed on the picture, I knew I had to stay here. What better place to write a mysterious—to me—story if not this.

The place is teeming with activity, as it has areas for dance, food, and even yoga classes. To my shock and surprise, lots of tourists frequent the place, and I had to wait for thirty minutes until I was given a room.

While I could stay in the inn all the time and write here, somehow it feels wrong. An urgency pushes me to go into the town, demanding I get to know it, learn it, and meet new people.

With determination fueling my blood, I shrug off the robe and quickly put on my jean shorts, white T-shirt, and lace my sneakers.

I grab my laptop, phone, and purse, and with one last glance around my room, I close the door and head to reception.

For some weird reason, they want me to leave the keys with them, even though they hadn’t asked the same thing of people before me. Was I treated differently because this was my first time here? Maybe they have trust issues with newcomers, but I don’t care either way.

Everything valuable is always with me anyway.

Reaching the reception desk, I drop the keys on it, and the woman behind the counter smiles brightly at me. “Ready to explore?”

I wink before putting on the sunglasses. “Adventures, here I come,” I singsong as she gives me a thumbs-up.

The minute I step to the door, I bump into a heavy chest, but strong hands catch me, caging me in the arms while all the air rushes out of my lungs.

The sunglasses slide down the bridge of my nose, so my eyes catch the stare of the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen in my entire life, like the ocean.

“Babe, come on. Don’t be mad.”

“I will be if I want to.”

“Or I’ll have to use my magic eyes that you can’t resist,” he mocks, nibbling on my neck and sending goose bumps down my skin. My breath hitches when his hands travel lower, squeezing my ass cheeks possessively. “Or let me properly apologize.” With a moan, I turn in his arms, our lips locking in a deep kiss that has no boundaries, all while a commotion in the inn echoes in the distance.

Gasping, I try to step back, but his arms don’t let me. “Do you have a tendency to find trouble wherever you go?” he questions, sliding my glasses back up. My body instantly reacts to his slight touch.

What the hell is this? And more importantly, what the hell was that flashback?

Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea after all. “And surprisingly, you are always there to rescue me, it seems,” I fire back, but then my cheeks flush at my rude tone. “I’m sorry for being rude. Thanks for catching me, I guess.”

Since he’s so close to me, my eyesight allows me to see him clearly, and I wish I had a pencil with me to forever imprint his masculine beauty in my brain.

Long, dark lashes cover his ocean-blue eyes, and firm eyebrows give him a brooding look. His nose has clearly been broken a few times with the little bumps present in the bridge, and then his high cheekbones indicate to me he must be of a mixed-race heritage. The beard covers most of his face, so my eyes trail lower, and this time it’s impossible to keep my gasp at bay as I see some deep, red scars all over his neck, as if someone choked him with a wire and then added to it with a knife. Even though he has different Celtic tattoos, quotes I guess, over them, it doesn’t hide the pain he had experienced.

And it only gets worse as my gaze shifts to his once-again bare chest. Does the man ever wear shirts? Similar but deeper scars are spread all over his chest, and I assume his back.

The tattoos there don’t help much either. Before my action even registers, I place my palm on the angry, red mark, and whisper, “You must have been in such pain.” Why would someone be so cruel to inflict such monstrous things on another human?

I feel his heartbeat thump in his chest right before he snags my hand and removes it with a slight sting to his touch. “Don’t.” His voice holds nothing but hatred, and I blink, not understanding why such emotions come in spades from him toward me.

Licking my lips, I say, “I’m sorry. I just….” I’m not sure telling him I want to bring some kind of relief will be appropriate, considering we are strangers, and I have no business doing that.

But he must have guessed that, as he says, “You can’t soothe it.” He laughs, but it lacks any humor. “You of all people can never do that.”

My head starts to throb as the familiar piercing pain assaults me, and I wince, swaying slightly. I put my hand on my forehead, while the bag with all my things becomes too heavy for me all of a sudden.

Out of nowhere, the reception lady appears in my line of vision, patting my back. “Are you all right?” She then glares at the stranger. “Micaden, you suck. What did you do?” She then addresses me again. “Let’s sit down on the couch. You are so pale you might faint.”

Micaden.

A beautiful name that belongs to such a rude ass.

I’m about to follow the lady’s advice when his words freeze me on the spot. “For her to be weak, I don’t have to do anything. That’s her character trait.”

“Micaden, seriously—” The woman huffs, but he shuts her up too.

“Don’t forget, this place belongs to me. I’d watch your mouth. And you—” His gaze lands on me again. “Be careful. The last thing we need is a tourist dying on us.” And just like the last time, he walks off leaving me completely baffled.

Rude, pompous ass who makes a judgment on me based on two encounters.

Weak?

I hold back the bitter laugh that threatens to spill through my lips.

He has no idea of the nightmares I had to survive.

If I’d been weak, I would’ve been dead.

But how can Micaden know that if he’s so quick to judge?

Micaden

Obsession and insanity go hand in hand.

Our love was born in her pain.

And it died in mine.

Our hate was born in my agony.

And it’ll die in hers.

Life has the tendency to come full circle after all.