One Night on the Island(38)
‘It’s the odd eyes,’ he says. ‘You’ll never fit me in.’
‘You don’t fit in my puzzle either,’ he says after a few seconds. ‘I don’t have space for a stubborn English girl who stands on one leg and eats pudding with dinner.’
I laugh softly. ‘You liked it.’
His huff warms my hair. ‘Surprisingly, I did.’
‘Let’s add that to my description.’ I lift my head from his shoulder and glance up at him. ‘“Stubborn, surprising English girl” makes me sound more interesting.’
Moonlight slants across the planes of his face, a few inches from mine. ‘Cleo, you’ve surprised me from the first moment I saw you.’
Time grinds to a slow stop here on the wooden steps of the lodge as we really look into each other’s eyes, and even though Mack doesn’t fit into my jigsaw and there’s no place for me in his, I don’t think I’ve ever felt a moment of absolute connection like this one. I see the shimmer of his fear, and I’m sure he can sense my deep-seated confusion. He smooths my hair, gentle, and my breath catches as I watch the apprehension in his eyes slide towards longing. He swallows, nervous, lowering his head, our lips barely touching. It’s agonizingly hot, this melancholy, sexy ache in my bones, the heat of him against me, the way his fingers cradle the back of my head. And then there’s no space between us. My hand moves to the warmth of his neck as we share the slowest, deepest of kisses, the low sound in his throat letting me know this has caught him as unaware as it has me. I don’t give a thought to how this flies in the face of everything I’ve come to Salvation for, and he clearly isn’t thinking about the whole heap of unresolved issues that brought him to Otter Lodge either. Something has drawn us together for this perfect moonlit moment on these worn wooden steps, to this tender kiss that feels like it’s been here all along, waiting patiently for us to find it. Have we stepped around it every day, argued over it, almost sent it flying beneath the soles of our boots? I close my eyes and lean into the feeling, to the pressure of Mack’s mouth on mine.
‘Cleo.’ He whispers my name, his fingers massaging the base of my skull, the sexy suggestion of his tongue against my lips. It’s like being slowly, pleasurably electrocuted; I hope there are no passing ships because I think we might be lighting up the shore like a beacon. I slide my tongue inside his mouth and he meets my needs with his own, dragging me in against him, breathing hard as our kiss slips from slow to searching, from searching to searing, my quiet gasps, his banging heart. I open my eyes and look at his closed ones, his magic eyes hidden from me, as lost in this as I am. His eyelids lift when my fingers find the smooth strip of skin at the base of his T-shirt. His pulse races beneath my palm. For a moment, our mouths still against each other, his eyes locked on mine, a million questions racing through them and my head, until he snaps and presses me back against the steps with the weight of his body, his hands inside my jumper, the kiss of a desperate man. I want him in a sudden, undeniable way I’ve never experienced, and his body tells me he wants me just as badly. He drags his T-shirt over his head, the gleam of moonlight silvering his exposed broad shoulders. The wooden steps press into my back when he covers me with the weight of his chest, his mouth over my neck, and I arch into him, giddy. His lips find mine again as his fingers move to the catch of my bra, a sigh of relief when he opens it, a sharp intake of breath when his hand covers the fullness of my breast. He sinks his teeth into my bottom lip, and I gasp, my fingernails digging into his shoulder. I’m not sure I could actually withstand sex with Mack Sullivan, but I’m willing to chance it because this is already the most primal, sexual moment of my life. I’m sorry for my temporary lapse, Emma Watson, but the only thing I want right here and now is to have mind-blowing, blisteringly hot sex.
‘Let’s go inside,’ I whisper, breathless and bold in a way I’m usually not because this feels so right.
Mack looks at me with those magic eyes, staring deep inside my soul again, and I pinpoint the exact moment reality seeps in and the shutters roll down. He covers his face with his hands.
‘Fuck. Cleo,’ he says. ‘I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I’m sorry.’
I stroke his hair because he looks like an anguished man, but he reaches up and catches hold of my wrist. ‘Don’t,’ he says, his breath still uneven from our kiss. ‘I don’t want this … you. It all feels wrong.’
It feels harsh and it feels like a lie because his body is telling me different. I’m aware suddenly of the late-night chill. I feel like a fool as I clamber away from him, struggling to work my clothes straight. I give up, heading for the door with as much dignity as I can muster. I bang it closed and then lean my back against it, my fists clenched. Part of me wants to open it and drag him inside but a bigger part of me feels like locking him outside and letting him freeze.
Mack
14 October
Salvation Island
WE’RE BASICALLY A COUPLE OF BURGERS
It’s more than an hour before I calm down enough to head back inside the lodge. Jeez, I’m a prize idiot. We’d just agreed to lay down our swords and I had to go and lose my head after a couple glasses of wine and the warmth of her body beside mine. Cleo’s in bed with all of the lights out so I move quietly, frustrated and still raw. I know the sane thing to do here is to go to sleep but after a few ramrod tense minutes in bed I find myself trying to say something, anything, to explain myself.