"You should have let me drown." But even as I say it, my hand is moving across the sand to cover hers, my fingers threading through hers with a gentleness that contradicts the harshness of my words. "You should have saved yourself."
"Well, I didn't." Her fingers tighten around mine, and the simple contact sends heat racing through my veins. "So now you're stuck with me, and I'm stuck with you, and maybe that's not the worst thing in the world."
I stare at our joined hands, at the way her slender fingers look almost fragile against my scarred knuckles, and feel something fundamental shifting in my chest. This woman who barely knows me, who has every reason to fear me, is choosing to see something in me worth saving. The realization is terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
"You're infuriating," I say, but there's no heat in it.
"You're impossible." Her lips curve into a smile that makes my pulse hammer in my throat. "But I'm starting to think that's part of your charm."
"I don't have charm. I have power and fear and money."
"You have more than that." Her free hand lifts to my face, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw with a touch so gentle it makes me want to close my eyes and lean into it. "You quote Pushkin while building shelters. You know about art and architecture. You took the impact of the rocks to shield my body. That's not just power and fear. That's humanity."
The word cracks something open inside me, something I've kept sealed for so long, I'd forgotten it existed. Before I can think better of it, before logic and self-preservation can reassert themselves, I'm cupping her jaw with my free hand and pulling her toward me.
The kiss happens without conscious decision. One moment we're arguing about the nature of humanity, and the next my mouth is on hers, swallowing her gasp of surprise. She tastes like salt and smoke and something uniquely her, something I know I'll crave long after we leave this island. Her lips are soft against mine, yielding but not passive, and when she kisses me back with equal hunger, her fingers threading through my hair and pulling me closer, I feel something crack open inside my chest.
This isn't strategic. Isn't calculated. Isn't any of the careful, controlled interactions I've perfected. This is raw and desperate and real, and it terrifies me.
I deepen the kiss, my tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she opens for me, and the taste of her floods my senses until nothing exists except this moment, this woman, and this impossible connection that shouldn't exist but does. Her body presses against mine, all soft curves and warm skin, and my free hand slides to the small of her back, pulling her closer still.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, her dark eyes are wide and dazed, her lips swollen from my kiss. The sight ofher like this, undone by my touch, makes possessive satisfaction surge through my veins.
"Nikolai," she whispers, and the way she says my name, breathy and wanting, makes my balls tighten.
Her gaze drops to my right arm, to the intricate tattoos covering my skin from shoulder to wrist. I tense automatically, waiting for the questions, the judgment, the fear that usually follows when people see the marks of my world inked permanently into my flesh. But Aria's fingers trace the edge of a design with feather-light pressure, following the curve of a serpent that winds around my bicep, and the touch sends electricity racing through my nerve endings.
"They're beautiful," she says softly, her fingertips exploring the artwork with genuine curiosity rather than revulsion. "What do they mean?"
"Each one tells a story." My voice comes out rougher than intended, thick with desire and something deeper I refuse to name. "Victories. Losses. Promises made and kept."
"Tell me." Her fingers continue their exploration, tracing a dagger, a crown, Cyrillic script that spells out words I've lived by. "Tell me your stories."
I open my mouth to answer, to share pieces of myself I've never offered anyone, when a sound cuts through the night air.
A ship's horn, distant but unmistakable, echoing across the water.
We both freeze, our eyes locking as the sound fades into silence. My heart hammers against my ribs, and I can't tell if it's from the kiss or the possibility of rescue or the sudden, terrifyingrealization that I don't want to be rescued. Not yet. Not when I've just started to crack open the walls surrounding my soul.
Aria's hand tightens in mine, her expression a mirror of my own confusion. "Was that…?"
The horn sounds again, closer this time, and we scramble to our feet, staring out at the dark ocean where lights now flicker on the horizon.
9
ARIA
Istrain my ears, listening for another blast of the ship's horn, but only the rhythmic crash of waves against rocks fills the silence. My eyes water as I scan the horizon, searching desperately for any sign of a vessel, but the ocean stretches empty in every direction. The lights I thought I saw have vanished, swallowed by darkness or distance or my own desperate imagination.
Either the sound was some trick of wind and water or the ship passed too far out to matter.
The disappointment settles heavily in my chest, a weight I can't quite identify. Is it relief or regret tangled up in this feeling? I should be devastated that rescue passed us by. Should be calculating how long we can survive here, how many days until another ship might come. Instead, I'm touching my lips, still tingling from the kiss we shared before that phantom horn interrupted us.
The memory sends heat flooding through my body that has nothing to do with the tropical night.
"We should gather more firewood," I say, needing to break the charged silence between us. "Before it gets too dark to see."
Nikolai nods, his eyes holding mine for a heartbeat too long. "I'll help."
