“Eager to escape, are we?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You seem…um…I’m going to, uh…” I couldn’t keep my gaze from dropping to his dick multiple times. Instead of finishing my sentence, I scrambled off the bed, gathered the clothes from the day before, and scurried towards the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Wait, Anica,” he said, shifting like he was going to get up.
I stared at the ceiling like my life depended on it. “Yes?”
“We should talk about last night.”
“Nope. Last night did not happen as of right now.”
“Is that what you want?” he asked, his tone switched to something more serious. “To pretend this never happened?”
I paused, my back to him. “I think it’s what we need to do.”
“Not the same thing,” he pointed out.
“No, but it’s the sensible thing. And I’m nothing if not sensible. I’m going to shower,” I announced, fleeing to the bathroom before he could say anything else. “Maybe deal with your issue before I get back.”
“No promises!” He called after me.
Under the spray of lukewarm water (apparently hot water was a luxury the B&B couldn’t quite manage), I tried to regain my composure. It was just physical proximity. Just a biological reaction to an attractive man. It didn’t mean anything. The fluttering in my stomach when he smiled at me was probably just hunger. Or possibly a tropical parasite. Definitely not feelings. Feelings were for other people.
By the time I emerged, fully dressed and mentally armored, Callan had also dressed and was chatting amiably with Mrs. Albury in the breakfast nook downstairs. The elderly woman beamed at me as I approached.
“Ah! There she is! I was just telling Mr. Burkhardt that you two were the quietest couple we’ve ever had. Usually, the guests in that room keep the whole house awake!” She winkedconspiratorially. “But quality over quantity, yes? Sometimes the quiet ones are the most satisfied. Like my second husband. Silent as a monk in public, but in the bedroom…well, let’s just say the neighbors filed noise complaints.”
I nearly choked on air. “We didn’t…we’re not?—”
“Darling, Mrs. Albury made us a special breakfast,” Callan interrupted smoothly, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Apparently it’s her famous ‘morning after’ spread. Lots of protein. For energy. To replace what was... expended.”
“Is that right?” I asked weakly, wondering if it was possible to die from embarrassment. Medical journals would study my case: “Woman Spontaneously Combusts Due to B&B Owner’s Sex Assumptions.”
“You need to keep your strength up,” Mrs. Albury insisted, patting my arm. “Especially with a man like this one. I can tell he has stamina. It’s in the shoulders. My third husband had shoulders like that. Once went for six hours straight. Had to ice my?—”
“Pancakes!” I interrupted desperately. “Are those pancakes? They look delicious. I love pancakes. Pancakes are great. Let’s talk about pancakes and nothing else. Ever.”
Callan’s shoulders were shaking as I sank into the chair across from him.
“Orange juice?” he offered innocently. “Freshly squeezed. Like your?—”
“I hate you,” I mouthed silently.
“No, you don’t,” he mouthed back, winking. “You think my abs were carved by Greek gods.”
I froze. “I said that out loud?”
“You mumble when you’re sleepy,” he informed me cheerfully. “It’s adorable. Sort of like when you’re drunk.”
“Kill me now. Just strike me dead on the spot. I will never recover from this.”
Breakfast was a special kind of torture, with Mrs. Albury making increasingly unsubtle comments about our “honeymoon” while Callan played along shamelessly. By the time she started describing a particular technique involving a banana and what she called “the double entendre,” I was seriously contemplating swimming back to his island rather than endure the ferry ride with him.
“You two come back anytime,” Mrs. Albury said as we prepared to leave. “Next time, ask for the room with the reinforced bedframe. For when you’re feeling less... restrained. My fourth husband and I broke three beds and a ceiling fan before we found furniture that could withstand our passion.”
“We will definitely keep that in mind,” Callan assured her, while I silently calculated the exact amount of alcohol required to permanently erase this conversation from my memory. God, maybe I would drink rum sooner than I thought.
The walk to the dock was mercifully short, though the morning humidity had already turned the air thick. We reached the ferry just as it was preparing to depart, joining a handful of other passengers for the journey back.
