My legs threaten to come out from under me. Every step down the corridor pulls at the low ache Scott left behind on that torch-lit path. His voice is still there, low and deliberate in my head. Later, alone in our shared room, when the ache drives your hand between your thighs, it won’t be Damon’s name you’ll think of.
I hate that I let his words get to me.
The hallway air is cooler as the air-conditioning hits. But it does nothing to settle the heat crawling under my skin. My dress clings in places I wish it wasn’t after the humid walk back.
When I arrive at the shared suite, I notice the door is ajar. Soft golden light spills into the corridor.
He’s awake.
I pause at the threshold, fingers curling around the knob until my knuckles ache. My heart slams against my ribs like it wants out.
I push open the door wider. Scott stands on the balcony, back to me, forearms braced on the railing. Moonlight cuts sharp across his shoulders, rolled sleeves exposing the corded forearms I traced when we kissed yesterday morning.
The ocean rolls back and forth, restless below. He doesn’t turn at the sound of the door. Doesn’t speak, as though he’s been waiting.
I step fully inside and close the door. The lock clicks—too loud, too final.
He turns then. Slow. Intentional. Eyes dark in the low light, unreadable except for the flicker of something raw when they lock on mine.
“How was your date?” The question sounds calm. Almost casual. But the edge underneath could slice bone.
Who the hell asks their ex about a date with someone else? This island is a goddamn fever dream.
The room shrinks until there’s nothing but the space between us.
His gaze drops—traces the way my dress clings to damp skin, lingers on the rise and fall of my chest like he’s memorizing every breath I’m trying to hide. When those blue eyes snap back to mine, heat flares, dark and restrained.
I cross my arms—half coverage, half armor. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it was lovely. Damon is easy company. A gentleman. He actually asked about my business and listened. He’s…caring.”
Scott scoffs, one brow arching. “Caring.” The word drips like acid. “You describe him like he’s the fucking neighborhood dog—reliable, doesn’t bite, easy to walk.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember asking for your permission to tell me what you think about my choices.”
“I don’t need your fucking permission to tell you when you’re making shitty ones.” His voice is low, rough. “You know damn well why I care. I can’t—I won’t—stand here and watch you settle for someone else just because he isn’t me.”
I plant my hands on my hips. “You don’t know what I want anymore. You haven’t for ten years. Complain all you want. It changes nothing.”
His eyes lock on mine like he’s looking straight through every wall I rebuilt. For a second, the air feels too thin.
“It’s been a long day.” I rip my gaze away. “I’m not doing this.”
“You looked up at me when I was on that terrace,” he says quietly. “Even with him right there, giving you every ounce of his attention, your eyes still found me.”
Heat crawls up my throat. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was looking around the villa.”
He steps inside and closes the glass doors. The soft click lands like clock turning.
“You’re a terrible liar, little one.”
“I’m done.” I step a step toward the bathroom—escape.
He doesn’t lunge. He simply turns, controlled and deliberate, putting his body between me and the door without touching me.
“Done?” That low voice drops another octave. “That kiss today told me a different story. Both of them did.”
Heat floods low in my belly, traitorous and instant. “One was a moment of weakness; the other?—”
“Both were the only honest fucking thing that’s happened between us since we got here.” He exhales, jaw tight. “Damon seems like a good guy. Straightforward. Safe. He’ll never raise his voice, never push you too hard, never make you feel anything that scares you.”
