7
Juliet
I fell to the bed, bouncing back from the firmness of the mattress. My eyes closed instantly as I was enveloped in the soft comfort of a thick duvet and a gentle island breeze coming through the balcony door. The bed was a large, four-posted creation with thick layers of sheer netting acting as a canopy overhead and tied off at the four posts.
“One hour. Then pool time,” Miller snapped, smacking my ass and heading to his adjoining room. We’d been on the earliest flight possible—6:00 a.m.—and eleven hours later, we finally arrived. I rolled to my side and stared out the window at the still-bright evening sunlight. The mountainous landscape flooded my memory. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, and the richness of tropical, floral fragrance overfilled my olfactory nerves. My lids flipped open again. My mouth watered for fresh fruit. Every sense was going to remind me of another island.
And everything else was going to remind me of him.
My knees curled up to my chest, and I rubbed at the familiar ache over my left breast. I didn’t think I had the strength to see him.
An hour later, I did.
Dressed in my new yellow bikini, I sat on a sunbathing lounger next to Miller, sipping my second rum punch. The pool was filled with lingering children and a scattering of adults. Miller and I had been giggling about swim attire, and the inappropriateness of some on particular body types. Miller didn’t care what size you were, and I was always one to promote that women should own their body, but we both agreed clothing should flatter. The older woman with the red-crotchet string bikini and thong didn’t work for us.
I’d heard a splash in the pool, that of an expert diver cutting through the surface of the water. The echo of the diving board still rang in the air. Collectively, I sensed every woman around me slowly holding their breaths. Even Miller perked up, looking around in wonder. And that’s when I saw him.
He broke the surface yards away from where he had entered and rose from the water like the god of the ocean. He was waist-deep, and the rivers of water teeming off his body gave the impression of a waterfall cascading over stone. The woman to my left dropped her drink. The woman to my far right gasped. I hadn’t pulled my eyes from him. Two long, muscular arms rose from the pool and all-too-familiar hands swiped over his head. One pushed back his hair, the other combed through it. That’s when I noticed the tattoo at his side. Etched under his arm to the left of his heart were two script lines, impossible to read at this distance.
He’d begun to slowly walk in the general direction where I sat, and my heart raced in my throat. I wore a sunhat, and I reached up to pull the brim down, and then slunk down in my seat. I didn’t take my eyes from him, but I didn’t want him to see me. I tipped my head to the left, but my eyes couldn’t pull away from the masculine display. He pressed up on the edge of the pool and those long arms extended to lift his body, exposing European swim trunks in jet black. More rivers streamed down the bulk of his thighs, and I swallowed. Despite two rum punches and a bottle of water, I was thirsty, so very thirsty. I had to pull my knees together, the pulse at my core so intense I worried those around me could hear the beat.
He paused at the edge of the pool, adjusting the waist of his shorts before tugging down at the hem, and then a woman approached with a towel. She was tall and thin and blonde, and I recognized her instantly. The family friend. The one with the angry eyes. She giggled as she swatted at his chest. He gripped her wrist, tugging her forward and held her hand pressed to his skin.
“I can’t look,” I whimpered aloud, turning my head even further and pulling the brim down to shield my eyes.
“Etty,” Miller sighed beside me, but I refused to watch. I couldn’t bear it if he kissed her. Every move he’d just made was so similar to the way he’d been with me. If he touched her jaw the way he had cupped mine, and pulled her in for a kiss, that would be the end of me.
“Etty, did you see him?” Miller exhaled as he spoke in a hushed tone.
“I saw.” I remained turned away, and Miller rolled his head to face me.
“What’s wrong?” Miller sat upright and swung his legs over the lounger.
“I’m going to go back to the room. I’m tired.”
Miller looked back in the direction of Tack and the woman and then faced me again.
“That’s him. That’s Tack Corbin, isn’t it?” Miller confirmed what I already knew.
It was him, and he hadn’t noticed me.