I pour the clean water over the cut, watching the blood wash away to reveal the clean edges of torn skin. My fingers work with surgical precision, checking for embedded coral fragments, and I try to ignore the way her calf flexes beneath my touch. This is practical. Necessary. First aid, nothing more.
Except my thumb traces circles against her ankle that have nothing to do with medical assessment, and when she shivers despite the tropical heat beating down on us, we both know it isn't from pain.
"Nikolai." My name on her lips sounds like a warning and an invitation all at once.
I've wanted her for days. Fought it with every weapon in my considerable arsenal. Reminded myself that she's innocent, vulnerable, trapped here with me through circumstances neither of us controlled. Taking advantage of this situation would make me exactly the monster those search results painted me as. The Pakhan who takes what he wants without regard for consequences or consent.
But Aria isn't looking at me like I'm a monster. Her dark eyes are heavy-lidded, her lips slightly parted, and the pulse in her throat hammers visibly against her skin. When my hand slides higher up her calf, testing, giving her every opportunity to pull away, she doesn't move. Doesn't protest. Just watches me with an intensity that makes heat pool low in my stomach.
"We should bandage this," I say, but I don't reach for the strips of cloth I tore from my shirt yesterday. My fingers continue theirexploration, tracing the elegant line of her leg, feeling the subtle tremor that runs through her body.
"Should we?" Her voice is barely above a whisper.
The last thread of my restraint snaps like a wire pulled too tightly.
I rise slowly, water streaming from my body, and close the distance between us. She's sitting on a flat rock at the water's edge, her makeshift clothing still damp from our morning swim, and the sight of her makes my mouth go dry. The time on this island has bronzed her skin, brought out reddish highlights in her dark hair, and stripped away the careful composure she wore like armor on the yacht.
My hand cups her jaw, thumb brushing across her lower lip, and I search her face for any sign of fear or hesitation. I find only heat, only want that mirrors the hunger clawing through my veins. Her pupils are dilated, her breathing shallow, and when I lean closer, she tilts her face up to meet me.
"Tell me to stop." The words come out rougher than intended. "Tell me this is a mistake, that you don't want this, and I'll walk away right now."
I won't take without permission. Even now, especially now, I need her choice. Need to know that whatever happens between us isn't coercion or circumstance but genuine desire.
Aria's hands lift to my chest, her palms pressing against my bare skin, and for a heartbeat, I think she's going to push me away. That she's finally recognized the danger I represent, the violence that lives beneath my skin like a second skeleton. That she's going to be smart and protect herself from the inevitable destruction I bring to everything I touch.
Instead, her fingers curl against my chest, nails digging in slightly, and her voice when she speaks is steady despite the tremor I can feel running through her body.
"I jumped into a storm-tossed ocean to save your life," she says, her dark eyes holding mine with absolute certainty. "I think we're past the point of smart decisions."
The truth of it hits me like a physical blow. She's right. We crossed some invisible line the moment she dove into those churning waves, the moment I chose to keep us stranded here instead of calling for rescue. We've been circling this inevitability for days, pretending the tension crackling between us is just proximity and survival instinct.
"This changes everything," I warn her, my thumb still tracing the curve of her lower lip. "Once we cross this line, there's no going back to whatever we were before."
"Maybe I don't want to go back." Her hands slide up my chest to my shoulders, her touch leaving trails of fire across my skin. "Maybe I'm tired of pretending I don't feel this."
Something in my chest cracks open at her admission, something I've kept locked away since I was twelve years old and learned that caring about people gives them power to destroy you. But Aria already has that power. She claimed it the moment she risked her life for mine, and I've been fighting a losing battle ever since.
"I'm not a good man, Aria." The confession tastes like ash on my tongue. "I've done things that would make you run if you knew the details. I've hurt people. Killed people. Built an empire on violence and fear."
"I know." Her voice is soft but certain. "I Googled you, remember? I know what the articles say, what you're accused of. And I'm still here."
"You're here because you have no choice."
"No." Her hands fist in my wet hair, pulling me closer until our faces are inches apart. "I'm here because I choose to be. I could hate you. Could spend every moment planning my escape. But I don't. I can't."
The admission hangs between us like a confession, and I see the exact moment she realizes what she's revealed. Vulnerability flashes across her face, quickly masked, but I caught it. She feels this, too, this impossible connection that shouldn't exist but does.
"Aria." Her name is a prayer and a curse on my lips.
"Stop thinking," she whispers, her breath warm against my mouth. "Stop calculating and planning and trying to control everything. Just… feel."
Her answer comes in the form of her hands fisting tighter in my hair, pulling my mouth down to hers with a desperation that matches my own, and I know with absolute certainty that this island has ruined us both.
11
ARIA
The heat of Nikolai's mouth against my throat sends electricity cascading through every nerve ending in my body. My back presses into the rough sand, and I should care about the discomfort, about the way tiny grains work their way beneath my makeshift clothing, but all I can focus on is the weight of him above me, the way his body seems determined to fuse us together into something inseparable.
