"Thanks for not letting me sleep on the porch that first night."
He huffed a laugh. "You're welcome."
"And thanks for..." She gestured vaguely. "All of that. The lagoon. The talking. The..." She gestured again, more specifically.
"The incredibly athletic and satisfying sex?"
"I was going to say 'the nice time,' but sure, that works too."
Alex smiled into the darkness, pulling her closer. Outside, the storm was beginning to fade, the thunder growing more distant, the rain softening to a gentle patter.
"Get some sleep," hemurmured.
"Bossy."
"Always."
Her breathing evened out within minutes, her body relaxing completely against his. Alex lay awake a while longer, listening to the rain, feeling the warm weight of her in his arms.
Maybe some journeys aren't about the destination, he'd thought earlier.Maybe they're about finding someone worth the trip.
Looking at Lily—this impossible, infuriating, wonderful woman who had crashed into his life and rearranged everything—Alex knew he'd been right.
She was worth it.
He just hoped he'd be brave enough to tell her so.
Eventually, lulled by the rain and the warmth of her body, Alex slept.
Chapter Seven
Lily woke to the sound of aggressive note-taking.
Not birdsong. Not waves. The scratchy, determined sound of pen against paper, punctuated by the occasional frustrated sigh.
She kept her eyes closed for a moment, orienting herself. No lumpy couch cushions beneath her. Instead, she was curled up in Alex's bed, wrapped in sheets that smelled like salt and him. The faint aroma of coffee already brewing. And the very vivid memory of Alex Carmichael's mouth on hers, his hands in her hair, the way he'd groaned her name like it was pulled from somewhere deep.
So that happened.
She cracked one eye open and found Alex at the small table, hunched over his field notes with the intensity of a man defusing a bomb. His hair was still damp from what she assumed was an aggressively early shower, and his shoulders were practically touching his ears with tension.
Ah. The classic morning-after freak-out. She'd seen this move before—the emotional retreat disguised as productivity. Men were so predictable.
"Morning," she said, stretching deliberately as she sat up.
Alex's pen stuttered. "Morning." He didn't look up. "Coffee's ready."
"Thanks." Lily padded to the kitchen area, acutely aware that she was wearing nothing but his oversized t-shirt. It smelled like salt and something woodsy that was distinctly him.
God, it made her feel all tingly inside.Deal with that later.
She poured herself a cup and leaned against the counter, watching him pretend to work. His handwriting had gotten progressively smaller and more cramped—a sure sign he wasn't actually processing whatever he was writing.
"So," she said, blowing on her coffee. "Are we going to talk about it, or are you planning to annotate your notes into oblivion?"
His pen stopped. "Talk about what?"
"Seriously?" Lily raised an eyebrow. "Playing dumb? You're too smart for that."
