“I feel terrible this happened to you,” she says, her voice on the jagged end of a whisper.
“It’s just a jellyfish sting. Could be worse.”
“True. You could be made a eunuch.”
The corners of my mouth curve as I try not to laugh. “He’s lucky I stopped there.”
“Good to know you’re not above medieval torture methods.” With a fisted hand propped under her chin, she asks, “What did he say?”
I’d rather not tell her, only because I don’t want to watch her face absorb it. But I’m not going to lie. “He suggested he and I had both”—my fingers lift for air quotes—“doneyou.”
“Ahh.” She nods, nonplussed. “So he woke up and chose to be classy.”
Her sarcastic comment draws out my laughter. I’m relieved she’s not upset.
Paisley repositions herself so she’s sitting back on her heels, knees bent and thighs pressed together. “I shouldn’t be surprised you rode in on your white horse and gallantly fought for my honor.” Her hands clasp, resting on the crevice formed by her legs, and there’s something about the tenderness evident in her expression that steals my breath.
“Klein.” My name on her lips is ragged, harsh, silk over broken glass. “You’ve been so good to me since we arrived on the island. And somehow I know you’re going to keep being good to me.”
There’s that word we keep using.Good.
My mouth opens to speak, but whatever I had to say is halted by Paisley running her fingertips up the inside of my left leg. Her touch travels higher, meets the hem of the plush towel.
I swallow the boulder in my throat, unsure of what to do or say.
“And I was thinking,” Paisley continues, a lone fingertip swooping over my thigh muscle, “that I’d like to be good to you, too.”
“You already are,” I grit out. “We’re each holding up our end of the deal.” I know because I check the account regularly, I see the photos and captions Cecily is creating.
Paisley rubs my thigh. My midsection coils, blood rushing into a part of my body I’ve maintained near-perfect control over when I’m around Paisley.
Through a fringe of golden lashes her gaze tumbles down to me. She looks vulnerable and tentative, and seeing Paisley less than confident rips at my chest. I don’t know why, only that it does.
The tip of her tongue pokes out and swipes over her upper lip. “This wouldn’t be a part of our deal.” One corner of her mouth lifts in a lopsided smile. “It would be a part of our new deal. Ourfundeal.”
My heartbeats pick up pace.
Paisley rises, still on her knees but no longer sitting on her heels. “Klein, what do you say? Will you allow me to be good to you? Help you forget about your sting for a little while?”
Sting? Oh, right. All this talk, this tension, shoved the sting and its pain to the back of my mind. But with Paisley’s mention of it, the searing heat on my leg flares.
I don’t want Paisley doing anything with me out of guilt. Or anything else that’s not purely because she desires to.
Sitting up from the mountain of pillows, I place two fingers under her chin and align our gazes.
“Paisley, I know this week has been a lot for you emotionally, and I don’t want you to?—”
She shakes her head, a tiny movement that causes her messy bun to bounce. “That’s not it, Klein. This is something I want to do. Something I’ve”—her jaw shifts under my touch as she bites at her lower lip—“thought about already.”
Of all the words I thought might come from Paisley Royce’s mouth today, that admittance was not one of them.
“I’ve thought about you, too. That way.” I breathe a short laugh. “Every way.”
Paisley grins. She moves her chin left, breaking my touch on her. Her palms are on my thighs, her warmth seeping into my skin. Her hands glide up, disappearing under the towel.
My muscles flex at her soft touch, and in anticipation.
“Lie back,” Paisley whispers.
